


A W.H.A.L.E. of a Love Story

by pimp12



Category: G.I. Joe (Cartoon), G.I. Joe (Marvel Comics), G.I. Joe - All Media Types
Genre: 90s, Action & Romance, Action/Adventure, Eventual Smut, F/M, Jack Reacher Cameo, Military
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2020-12-16 11:43:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 21,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21035693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pimp12/pseuds/pimp12
Summary: Cover Girl and Shipwreck broke up three months ago.  Now they are forced to go on a mission together behind enemy lines to recover the Night Striker, an experimental version of the W.H.A.L.E. hovercraft.  Will they be able to put their differences aside and accomplish their goal, or will they get tripped up in an emotional Claymore that will sink all hope of success?





	1. Prologue: Manhattan Photo Studio of Wayne La Pierre 4:30 pm EST, June 16, 1985

**Author's Note:**

> This story is set primarily in the Marvel Comics continuity, almost like an issue of the original G.I. Joe Special Missions comics. However, there are some mentions of cartoon elements, like Extensive Enterprises. It leans more towards being realistic military fiction than science fiction. Still, it's G.I. Joe so it's meant to be fun.

####  **Prologue **

####  ** _Manhattan Photo Studio of Wayne La Pierre_ **

####  ** _4:30 pm EST, June 16, 1985_ **

Courtney had gotten good at not flinching when the flashbulbs went off. She also ignored the ton of makeup on her face, walking around in a freezing studio and posing with black headless mannequins. She didn’t know what wearing the latest swimsuits from France or Australia had to do with the white walls and black lacquer she was posing in front of, but that was Wayne’s choice, not hers. These are things she didn’t question as she smiled, enough teeth to look sexy, but not too much to look happy, and strutted and posed. Courtney had even convinced Wayne to let her forgo the heels for the last few hours, a godsend since she was close to working a twelve-hour day already and Wayne seemed to want to work a few hours more. 

But did Wayne have to blast Duran Duran over and over as they were working? How many times could one person listen to “The Reflex” before going insane?

Wayne said, “You’re having fun, yeah. Let me see pouty. Good girl! Let me see naughty. You’re a naughty little bitch, aren’tcha?” Wayne yelled, punctuating each sentence with a flash from his Nikon. He yelled in his Australian accent like he was an extra from a Road Warrior movie. 

Courtney went through her poses as practiced, remembering how Momma used to be so proud of her whenever she’d entered one of the local beauty pageants. Momma used to say that with Courtney’s green eyes, near-Amazonian height, and sunshine gold hair, she’d be on the cover of all the magazines. Courtney remembered how Momma had used to collect those magazines in the house and beamed when Courtney would put one of her trophies and sashes on the living room mantle, always finishing at least third in every pageant she competed in. Now, at nineteen, she was making Momma’s dream come true. 

Wayne always had a lot of energy later in the day, probably because after lunch, he’d had a quick snort of the Colombian nose candy to really get him going. He’d offered Courtney some once, but the Midwestern values of this girl from Peoria just were too entrenched to make her want to even try it. Courtney knew the super-thin skeleton look was what the industry was looking for, but she preferred to stay in shape by running and exercising and watching what she ate. She saw what starving yourself did to the other girls. They looked more like feral children than Greek statues.

“Five!” Wayne barked out. “I need to reload. Court, be a love and go get Cindy from the dressing room. She’s next. Just don’t go too far. Change into that two-piece blue and yellow number.”

Courtney nodded and headed back to the dressing room. She opened the door and saw Cindy dressed in a black backless one piece with a plunging neckline, the straps tied behind her neck. Her shoulder blades stuck out like some atavistic set of wings, and her eyes were ringed with a lot of black makeup. She rubbed her nostrils and closed her mirror compact. Courtney said, “They’re ready for you.”

Cindy nodded and said, “Thanks, hon. How do I look?”

“You’re going to knock them dead, babe. Luck.” They air-kissed so they wouldn’t smudge their makeup.

When Cindy left, Courtney rubbed the bridge of her nose. She hated these long days. They weren’t so much exhausting as they were just boring. Pout, smile, show me those green eyes. Wayne gave a command and she jumped. And if it wasn’t Wayne, it was some other self-important douche with a camera. Or a woman fitting her for a swimsuit worth more than some people’s houses. She had time, so she got her purse and pulled out the letter she had just gotten from Dad. At times like these, she needed to read his down to earth words, stopping her head from filling with what he called Momma’s “pretty nonsense.” He’d sent a newspaper clipping from the _Journal Star_: “Local Girl Courtney Krieger Makes It Big, Returns for Ribbon Cutting of New Hospital.” Dad owned one of the bigger Caterpillar dealerships in the area and was friends with the mayor. The mayor had asked her to come back to Peoria for the photo opportunity about two weeks ago. To Courtney, it was a great excuse to come home, spend time with her family, and maybe even get her elbows dirty helping Dad with some of the diesel engines on the construction equipment he serviced. Dad said she had a head for engines.

Courtney read her dad’s plain handwriting. _“We’re all proud of you,”_ the letter read. 

Proud of what? Courtney thought. I’m a face, an ass, a set of boobs. She remembered how during her visit, she had gone to the local elementary school to talk about her career and one of the kids had called her a Barbie. 

A Barbie. 

And that’s all she has been for the last two years to wide acclaim. Everyone thought she was amazing, brilliant, and dazzling. All because she looked good in an Italian dress while looking into a camera.

Courtney sighed and shrugged. Break’s over, time to change. She put the letter back in the envelope and flipped the clipping over, hoping to see if maybe something else was happening back home. All she saw was an ad for the local Army Recruitment Office.

“Be All That You Can Be,” the ad said in big letters. Underneath was a black-and-white picture of two people, a man and a woman, in dress uniform saluting. “See the world. Learn a trade. Serve your country.”

Courtney raised an eyebrow. “Hmm,” she said quietly. Tomorrow was her day off. Wasn’t there a recruiting office in Times Square?


	2. Chapter One: Supreme Headquarters of the Army of the People’s Republic of Sierra Gordo, Sometime in the 1990s, March, 0450 Local Time

####  **Chapter One**

####  ** _Supreme Headquarters of the Army of the People’s Republic of Sierra Gordo_ **

####  ** _Sometime in the 1990s, March, 0450 Local Time_ **

SPC Courtney Krieger sat in a small room that resembled her 3rd grade classroom, only with blank walls and institutionalized pale white paint. It did have the small desks though, and at 6’1”, she had a problem fitting into the seat, much like she did in high school. She’d just spent eight hours on a C-130 flying through rough turbulence from The Pit to this small blip of sand and swamp in South America. Back at home, she’d had some downtime since her last mission and had been using it to try to get better fuel efficiency from the engine in her Wolverine. One of the drawbacks of the vehicle, besides the fact that it was limited to shooting twelve missiles because it lacked any other armaments, was the range of those missiles. Deploying and maneuvering the damn thing in a firefight ate a lot of gas. She’d learned early after being assigned as the primary driver of the Wolverine that if she was going to get that money shot, firing her entire payload at once, she had to be as close to her targets as possible. The orders to get to Sierra Gordo ASAP had arrived almost as soon as she had screwed the engine panel back on.

Krieger heard the door in the room squeak open. She saw SGM Sneeden, code named Beach Head, walk in. He wore a green commando sweater and brown camo pants and his trademark ski mask rolled away from his face, like a skullcap. For once, Krieger saw more than just his eyes. She tried to get up from her desk to salute but got tangled up. Beach Head gave an uncharacteristic smile and said in his Gulf Coast drawl, “At ease, Cover Girl,” using her code name. 

She sat back down. G.I. Joe, the joint service anti-terrorist unit she was a member of, tended to be less formal than the rest of the armed forces. Everyone tended to be real familiar with each other, using code names, sometimes forgoing saluting, but Krieger knew Beach Head had a hard-on for discipline. Krieger knew he took his job and rank as Sergeant Major seriously. When she stopped trying to get out of the desk, she said, “These desks suck. What was this place? It looks like it used to be a school.”

Beach Head said, “Before this became the Supreme Army Headquarters, it used to be the University of Sierra Gordo, back when the Liberal party had overthrown the Conservative party.”

“Which time?” Krieger asked. “I think this is the first time since we’ve had dealings with this government that things have been stable enough to establish anything.”

“Peace is a lovely thing,” he said. “It puts us out of business, but it is a lovely thing.”

Krieger said, “I’d heard since the government had stabilized, you’d been sent down here in an advisory capacity to train the local army and provide support.”

“Indeed, I was, with a handful of other Joes. On paper, the new administration is trying to limit its involvement in South America, but Sierra Gordo presents some strategic problems since it’s a fine waypoint for just about any kind of contraband going anywhere in the Western Hemisphere. Drugs, guns, you name it. It comes here first before it ends up in some gangbanger’s hand in South Central L.A. or Miami Beach. The problem is with Sierra Gordo’s treaty with its neighbor to the north, Sierra Muerte.” 

“I read up on all this on the way down here. Because of all the past terrorist interference from Cobra, neither country can have any ‘significant foreign military presence.’ I assume we’re following that to the letter of the law?” Krieger asked. 

“Letter, yes. Spirit? Well, let’s just say, even with the treaty, the situation is still a tinderbox waiting for someone to throw in a lit match. Seems that Sierra Muerte has allowed outside advisors into the country, just like Sierra Gordo has.”

“Cobra?”

“Extensive Enterprises built a small office in their capital,” Beach Head said. “We were pretty sure that since Extensive is a front for Cobra, Cobra has its fangs dug in deep. Now we know it’s definite,” Beach Head said.

“How?”

“That’s what the mission is all about. We’re just waiting for your partner to show up. He was supposed to be here at 0500, but he’s already twenty minutes late.”

Krieger tapped her pen against the pad of paper, then her eyes went wide. “You don’t mean—”

The door banged open, and a man stepped through. He was tall, rugged with a full beard and a crop of brown hair peeking from under a sailor’s cap. He wore a short sleeved blue shirt and walked with a saunter that both exuded confidence and a certain uneasiness about being on dry land. He smiled when he saluted Beach Head. There was a twinkle in his eye when he said, “Chief Hector Delgado reporting for duty, Sarge.”

Krieger couldn’t believe it. It was Shipwreck. 

The years she’d spent modeling allowed her to look impassive, not betraying the emotions she felt at seeing Hector for the first time since they’d broken up three months ago. She couldn’t believe she was working with this old salt dog again. 

“Cover Girl,” Shipwreck said as he took the seat next to her like an overeager junior high student.

“Good to see you, Ship.”

Beach Head reached into his bag and took out manila envelopes, handing one each to Krieger and Shipwreck. “Now we can get started.” 


	3. Interlude: Home of Alberto Delgado, 3765 Park Way, Chula Vista, California 5:00 pm, April 19, 1982

####  **Interlude**

####  ** _Home of Alberto Delgado, 3765 Park Way, Chula Vista, California_ **

####  **_5:00 pm, April 19, 1982_ **

Hector sat in the back seat of Officer Ruiz’s cruiser, hands cuffed behind his back, watching the officer standing on the sidewalk in front of Uncle Al’s house. He couldn’t hear what they were saying, but Uncle Al nodded a few times whenever the officer said anything. The silence inside the cruiser was occasionally punctuated by chatter on the police radio.

Hector had been out with his friends at the mall when someone had dared him to steal a Chargers hat from a sporting goods store. When they’d been spotted, they ran, every man for himself. Hector had never been a fast runner, and it probably would have been easier to get away if he hadn’t worn the stolen merchandise on his head.

Uncle Al was godfather to Officer Ruiz’s son, who was 16 years old, about as old as Hector. This was the fourth time in as many months that Hector had been caught doing something criminally stupid, and the fourth time he’d been driven over to Uncle Al’s house in the back of a police car. It was getting ridiculous. Hector didn’t understand what the big deal was. It was a dumb prank, like the time he’d done donuts in the front of the high school on his moped. Or the time he’d stolen that boat at the marina and flew a Jolly Roger up the mast. He’d had enough of this shit, enough of living like a chump landlubber. He was going to head over to the Port, hop a freighter to somewhere and get out of Chula Vista for good.

Officer Ruiz came over to the side of the car where Hector was sitting, unlocked the door, and told him to get out. He complied. The officer removed Hector’s cuffs and turned him around. He said, “Listen, Hector. You can’t be doing stuff like this anymore. I even told your uncle, next time I’m gonna have to haul you in.”

Uncle Al walked over to them and put his hand on Hector’s shoulder as Hector rubbed his wrists. “Danny,” he said in his slight Mexican accent, addressing Officer Cruz, “I promise you, Hector is going to never see the back of a police cruiser again. Am I right, son?”

“Yes, Uncle Al,” Hector answered.

Officer Ruiz shook hands with Uncle Al, then Hector. Uncle Al put his hand on Hector’s shoulder and led him to the house. 

Uncle Al slammed the door behind them. “Hector, what the hell is the matter with you? Why you keep doing these crazy things?”

“I dunno.”

When they got in the house, Hector saw all of Uncle Al’s mementos and medals from his service in Vietnam. Since the time he was young, Hector had loved hearing his uncle’s stories about patrolling the Mekong Delta in a PBR, fighting river pirates and the Viet Cong. They’d even gone to look at the big ships at the Naval Yard in San Diego together. All Hector dreamed about was a life at sea, but it always seemed so far off. 

Hector sat on the couch. Uncle Al took the recliner. “I have to tell your parents this time,” he said.

“Oh, c’mon, Uncle Al! You can’t do that. I’ll be grounded for life.”

“And what do you expect me to do, huh? You keep promising and promising you’ll behave, but no. I’m sick of seeing you in the back of a police car. It would break me to see you sitting behind bars.”

“But this time I swear I’ll do better. I mean it!”

Uncle Al sighed deeply. “You know, you’ll never get into the Navy if you go to prison.”

“Oh, man. I still have to wait two years anyway, and besides, what am I going to do until then? Go to school? Learn bullshit?”

“Language!”

“Learn BS? I mean, how’s learning about Shakespeare going to ever help me if I want to be a sailor? I don’t want to end up wasting my life here. I want to see the world like you did!”

Uncle Al paused before speaking. “This means a lot to you, doesn’t it?”

Hector nodded.

“What if I got your parents to sign the papers to let you join now?”

“At 16? And drop out of school? No way. Mom would never go for it.”

“I think I can help her see that this will be good for you.”

Hector looked at his sneakers, then at his uncle. “You think you can really do that?”

“Tell you what. If you keep your nose clean until the end of the school year, we’ll talk to your parents. I think once they understand, they’ll be okay with it.”

Hector got up and hugged his uncle. “You’re the best, Unc!”

“Hey, just remember. If Danny brings you here again, I’m telling him to take you to jail. And then, all bets are off.”

“No sweat, Uncle Al. I won’t let you down. You’re the fuckin’ best!”

“Language!”


	4. Chapter Two: Supreme Headquarters of the Army of the People’s Republic of Sierra Gordo, Sometime in the 1990s, March, 0540 Local Time

####  **Chapter Two**

####  ** _Supreme Headquarters of the Army of the People’s Republic of Sierra Gordo_ **

####  ** _Sometime in the 1990s, March, 0540 Local Time_ **

Shipwreck had flown into Sierra Gordo from a training exercise in Florida, and the weather had made the plane trip rough. Then, of course, he’d had to stop and score some chow and make a quick trip to the head. Beach Head and Cover Girl were giving him the hairy eye for being late for the briefing, but he shrugged it off. A man had needs and after the mission started, he had no clue when he’d be able to take care of those needs. Besides, being on time only mattered in the field, not for mission briefings.

Beach Head gave both Shipwreck and Cover Girl the low-down; G.I. Joe had been testing a modified version of its W.H.A.L.E. hovercraft, code named Night Striker, off the coast of Sierra Gordo about 36 hours ago. The standard hovercraft was a giant, green, 8-ton behemoth armed with missile launchers, cannons, two crow’s nest machine gun ports, and depth charges for anti-sub capability. Shipwreck had driven hovercrafts before, and they were a dream. Using turbines and an air cushion in its undercarriage, the hovercraft was capable of carrying personnel and supplies for a beach landing with the added bonus of being able to drive on the beach, giving it a range that other landing craft couldn’t match. The W.H.A.L.E. was basically an amphibious tank and troop carrier the likes of which the world had never seen. Beach Head insisted that this one was special though.

“Why?” Shipwreck asked.

“This boat has been codenamed Night Striker. It’s been modified for stealth use with an experimental package code named Night Force.”

“Night Force? Really? Sounds like the name of the Skinemax film I watched on the flight coming down here.”

Cover Girl took her notepad and smacked Shipwreck on the shoulder, just a little harder than she usually did back when. . . well, a while ago. “Seriously, Ship, can’t you just be serious for once?”

“Seriously, I can, Specialist Krieger,” he said, arching one eyebrow. Cover Girl hated being called that, but if she wanted serious, by all means, she’d get serious.

“If you two kids can calm down?” Beach Head admonished. “Thank you. I don’t make these codenames up. Anyway, this hovercraft has been modified for stealth operations and silent running. It has a special blackball paint that absorbs RADAR detection, a special sound dampening system for the engines, and a sensor package designed to confuse the enemy. In short, on a moonless night, the thing is as invisible as a squad when it’s time to dig a latrine ditch. So, while we were testing this piece of equipment during beach deployment exercises, our team was ambushed in international waters by something pretty big. There’s an image in your folders.”

Shipwreck let out a long whistle as he opened up the folder and looked at the grainy black-and-white picture. “It looks like a Cobra Moray. Huge monster of a boat.”

Cover Girl said, “It looks a little. . . stripped down? I don’t know. It looks off.”

“We think,” Beach Head explained, “that it’s an older boat, sold to the Sierra Muerte government by Cobra. All we know is that they caught us by surprise. It might have been out on patrol or—”

“The Night Force stealth tech is a flop,” Cover Girl interrupted. “I remember some guys at the black box division of OTC outfitting an old Wolverine with Night Force gear. It took some doing, but I got it to work. It didn’t work right out of the box like they promised, though.”

“Well, whatever the reason, the hovercraft was hijacked.”

“Casualties?” Shipwreck asked.

“Everyone made it back alive, just egos bruised,” Beach Head replied. “Our boat took damage, and the team tried to scuttle the thing, but the self-destruct got damaged in the firefight. Our operatives in the field, Outback and Tunnel Rat, tracked the boat to a marine garage storage unit on one of the small tributaries off the Rio Verde. It’s real swamp country with this confusing network of small rivers. It looks like this was just a crime of opportunity because, from what we’ve heard, Cobra doesn’t have a tech team on the ground ready to strip the hovercraft. But you can bet they’re coming, and fast.”

“So, you want us to steal it back,” Shipwreck said.

“Or blow it to Kingdom Come. But considering it’s a multimillion dollar piece of combat equipment with sensitive technology on board, Uncle Sam would like her back in at least three pieces, if not one. We’ll get you to the border. Your job is to cross into Sierra Muerte, find passage to this marine bunker where the Night Striker is being kept, and pilot the boat to international waters.”

“Not back here?” Cover Girl asked.

“No can do. If it’s found here, it’s a violation of treaty. There’s a carrier strike group sailing from Japan back to California after they finish conducting joint operations with our allies in that region. You’ll rendezvous at the predetermined coordinates in international waters. The group has a tug, the _USNS Navajo_, that dropped off the hovercraft in the first place. The hovercraft-dedicated pilot, Lt. Stone, code named Cutter, will be on board. He’ll take over the operation from there. Then you two can just relax and enjoy the ride back to San Diego.”

“How long do we have?” Shipwreck asked.

“Twenty-four hours, maybe 36 tops.”

“Threading a needle here, are we?” Cover Girl said.

“And if we miss the rendezvous?” Shipwreck asked.

“You’d better find some way home,” Beach Head said. “Understood?”

They both nodded.

* * *

Shipwreck and Cover Girl walked down the hallway after the briefing was over. She put the file into her leather portfolio, while he rolled his up and stuffed it in his back pocket. 

“So, how’ve you been?” Shipwreck said.

Cover Girl never slowed down her pace. She took her ball cap out of her jacket pocket and put it on her head, tucking her blonde hair in. The cap covered her eyes a bit. “Fine,” was all she replied.

“Just fine? Okay. I heard you were in Tel Aviv. How was that?”

“Fine.”

“That’s all you’re going to say? Fine?”

Cover Girl stopped short and turned to look at Shipwreck. “Just what are you getting at? Seriously?”

“Nothing. Look, it’s nothing, okay? Just it’s been three months. I thought we could still be, you know—” 

“Friends? I dunno, Hector, are we?”

“I’d like to think so.”

Cover Girl looked at Shipwreck, stone-faced, only her green eyes flaring. “Look, the past is past. Okay? We’ve worked well together before. We’re both professional enough to work well together again. Just. . . just don’t, okay?”

“Don’t what?” Shipwreck asked, shrugging his shoulders.

“Just, don’t be. . . don’t be Shipwreck, acting like everything is normal. I get it. We’re not together anymore. Just don’t rub it in, okay? You be Chief Delgado, and I’ll be Specialist Krieger, and we’ll both get this boat home.”

“You know, technically I outrank you. I’m mission leader. Onward, march, Specialist!” Shipwreck smiled wide.

Cover Girl groaned and shook her head. “You’re just never going to grow up, are you? Fine. Just . . ., whatever. We have gear to pack, and then we meet Clutch over at the motor pool. What time should I meet you there, _Chief_?”

“Oh-seven hundred sound good?”

Cover Girl gave an exaggerated salute and stormed off. Shipwreck watched her go. He had to admit, he was still attracted to her. Those green eyes, her long blonde hair, the way her rear looked in a pair of khakis. She kept those supermodel looks even when she was elbow deep in engine sludge. When he’d ended it, Shipwreck had thought it was for the best. Two different worlds and all that crap. It wasn’t until a month ago, when he’d needed someone to talk to, that he realized how much he missed her. Still, like Short Round said to Indiana Jones, _No time for love, Chief Delgado_. He had a job to do. He knew Cover Girl would come through. And of course, everything always worked out for Shipwreck. It was time to go to work.


	5. Chapter Three: Federal Highway 0850, Local Time in Sierra Gordo

####  **Chapter Three**

####  ** _Federal Highway_**

####  ** _0850, Local Time in Sierra Gordo_ **

Krieger and Shipwreck were on the road in a thirty-year-old Jeep driven by CPL Steinberg, code named Clutch. Beach Head had been able to outfit them with Sierra Muerte army uniforms along with AK-47s. The weapons weren’t the most accurate, but they were standard-issue in the Sierra Muerte military and could take a beating and keep firing. No jamming issues either. 

Krieger tucked her hair under her ball cap to keep from attracting attention. She’d been meaning to cut it shorter even though it was still regulation length, but her last covert assignment had required her to keep it somewhat long and she’d just never gotten a chance to visit the barber at the PX. 

Clutch would drive them to the border. Then, Krieger and Shipwreck were to traverse through the brush to the location of the hovercraft, hopefully without engaging the enemy. Waiting until nightfall would have probably been more ideal, but the clock was already ticking on this mission. With luck, they’d reach the marine garage where the hovercraft was being kept by sunset. At that point, Tunnel Rat and Outback would somehow disable or draw away anyone guarding the boat long enough for Krieger to effect repairs, make her seaworthy, and then have Shipwreck sail it to the rendezvous. She wasn’t that worried, but the time frame made every second count.

Clutch was G.I. Joe’s best driver, and he didn’t hide it. Shipwreck sat in the front of the Jeep while Krieger sat in the back. A woman in an army uniform would attract attention, so it was better for her to sit in the back seat. 

Clutch, ever the gentleman, said, “Don’t worry, Cover Girl. You can ride in the front seat on the way home. You’re better looking than Shipwreck here anyway.” 

“Eyes on the road,” Krieger said.

“She’s a little sensitive today,” Shipwreck said.

“Women are always getting their panties in a bunch,” Clutch said.

“That’s because mine are army issue and fit like crap. What’s your excuse?” she asked.

“Funny, real funny,” Clutch said.

“See? Told you she was sensitive today,” Shipwreck said.

Clutch turned off the main highway and onto a network of dirt roads. He was maintaining a speed of about 60 miles per hour, testing the shocks and traction of the tires on the jeep. He kept the thing on the road, but barely. At sharp turns, he never hit the brakes and slid into turns. “What?” he said, “No cheering for how well I’m driving?”

“Please,” Krieger chided. “Your tricks haven’t changed since you first joined this outfit.”

Clutch laughed as he hit the gas, yelling over the wind, “I’d like to see you do better, honey. Last time you drove, it was like riding a rusty John Deere to a church bingo game.”

“Don’t like bingo, Clutch?” Krieger asked.

“It’s a game for old ladies.”

“I dunno, I think you don’t like it because you never score. The balls are always coming up wrong for you,” she said. Krieger then looked over at Shipwreck. It hadn’t been common knowledge with the team that they’d been dating. A few people knew, but because Clutch was such a big-mouthed dick, they’d never bothered to tell him. She noticed that Shipwreck was pretty quiet, probably because he was getting carsick. An old salt like him couldn’t wait to get back on the water. She noticed that he was working his jaw under his beard like he was upset.

“Oh, I score just fine,” Clutch said. “You’ve just been driving tanks too long. It’s a little hard to handle something that big, isn’t it?”

Krieger smiled. Every time she was on a mission with Clutch, he had to be a sexist pig. The problem was that she always ended up roasting him like pork at a luau. “I handle it just fine,” she said. “My problem is that the trigger is really light. Doesn’t take much to launch that payload prematurely.”

“You need a real ride, sweetie, not something like that Wolverine you drive. Fires everything at once, and what’s left?”

“An ego crusher, if driven by the right gal,” she said.

Clutch laughed. “Yeah, nothing’s crushing this ego.”

“How can it? It’s bigger than the Pentagon.”

Clutch slowed the jeep down. “We’re getting closer to the border. I know a section of road that can get us a mile or so into Sierra Muerte that the border guards never check. Past that point, you walk. Shipwreck, do you think Miss Revlon here can handle it?”

Shipwreck managed to smile, probably easier to do now that Clutch had stopped driving like he was trying to get to the bar before last call. “I’ll let you know how many nails she breaks.” They both laughed at Krieger’s expense.

After they stopped the jeep, Krieger got her gear and slung her backpack on. She slung her rifle over her shoulder and climbed out of the jeep. Shipwreck did the same. 

They thanked Clutch, but before they started to walk away, he said, “Listen, Cover Girl. I should be back stateside in a week or two. How about we, you know. . . look under the hood at the motor pool and see how things work out?” He winked at her.

Krieger just shrugged. “We’ll see. Later.”

Shipwreck walked past her and said, “This way, . . . Specialist.”


	6. Chapter Four: Somewhere in Sierra Muerte 1024, Local Time

####  **Chapter Four**

####  ** _Somewhere in Sierra Muerte_ **

####  ** _1024, Local Time_ **

Shipwreck and Cover Girl walked on the dirt road surrounded by dense jungle vegetation and the buzzing of insects. The heat and humidity was oppressive. Shipwreck took point. Cover Girl had the rear. Both stayed quiet during the first twenty minutes of their trek, but they didn’t actively hide. They walked along a known route in their stolen Sierra Muerte uniforms, trying to look like the border patrol that would usually stand guard. 

Shipwreck consulted his location finder, a large box with an antenna used to pick up the GPS from space. He’d already memorized the map he’d been given but didn’t mind having something to double-check their position. Before going for his SEAL training, he’d hated devices like these, but he realized that any advantage our side had should be used because their side sure as hell would. 

As they got farther into Sierra Muerte, Cover Girl tapped Shipwreck on the shoulder and pointed to the base of a tree to their right. She said, “Look at the mark.”

Lo and behold, Shipwreck saw something lightly carved into the bark of the tree: two parallel diagonal lines crossed by a third. “Outback left that.”

“Must mean we’re going the right way.”

At the rate they were traveling, Shipwreck figured they’d be at the first position by 1600 hours, maybe 1630. At that time, they were to stay put until Outback and Tunnel Rat arranged for a distraction to get the guards away from the marine garage where the hovercraft was being stored. They’d then give Shipwreck and Cover Girl a signal to proceed. During the morning briefing, he’d asked what the signal would be since radio silence was to be maintained in all but the strictest emergency. All Beach Head had said was, “You know those savages. It’ll be loud.”

Shipwreck kept his eyes out for Outback’s trail markings. Sure enough, the markings pointed out a trail that eventually took them off the normal patrol path, so they’d avoid being seen, keeping them under cover in the bush. They’d been making such good time that by noon Shipwreck made a signal to stop and eat. They scoped the area, saw they were alone, and sat up with their backs against a fallen tree. They’d packed two MRE rations each. Shipwreck asked Cover Girl, “What did you bring?”

“The vegetarian special, rice and bean burrito. You?”

“Chili and macaroni.”

“That’ll kill your stomach.”

“Better than what you’re having,” Shipwreck replied. “I can’t believe you’re still on that vegetarian kick.”

“It’s just healthier.”

“Yeah, well, our species didn’t work its way to the top of the food chain just to eat a salad. Still, I doubt our species worked its way up to eat this crap either.”

Cover Girl smiled. “Well, you are what you eat.”

They ate in silence and listened to the birds and animals calling to each other. The jungle was full of life with no sign of anything human approaching. Shipwreck watched Cover Girl eat from her ration pack. The last time they’d eaten together was during a mission somewhere in Eastern Europe, a little more than a year ago. They used to have such good banter. It helped make the time being scared of getting killed go by much more pleasantly. Now, their conversations seemed to be as heavy as lead balloons. Cover Girl’s last remark had had a bit of an edge to it. “Look,” he said, “I’m sorry about before.”

Cover Girl shrugged, her mouth full.

“About being, you know. . .”

Cover Girl swallowed her food. She gave a sideward glance at Shipwreck before saying, “Kind of a boorish clod?”

“Well, I wouldn’t go that far. I mean, I’m never boring.”

“The word is boorish. Boorish, Hector—I mean, Chief Delgado.”

“Okay, okay, enough with the ‘Chief’ stuff, okay? I get it, I’m being a dick.”

“Gosh, you and that sailor’s mouth!”

“Don’t go all Midwestern Sunday School teacher on me,” Shipwreck said.

“Well, try adding a word to your vocabulary that won’t make a Sunday School teacher blush for once. And besides, I’d like to see a church lady take apart a tank engine and put it back together and still look as good as I do. You know me better than that.”

Shipwreck nodded. He swept the perimeter with his eyes and then turned back to Cover Girl. He didn’t realize he was staring until she said, “What? Something in my teeth?”

“Uh, no. No, nothing.”

“Eyes on your own paper then. C’mon, we should get going soon.”

“Jesus, in a hurry much? We’ve got time. What, you got a date?”

Cover Girl raised an eyebrow. “That’s none of your business. At least, not anymore.”

“Are you hiding something?” Shipwreck asked. He thought he was teasing but was a little surprised that his tone sounded a little serious.

“We’re covert ops. That’s our job, to hide things.”

Shipwreck felt his jaw start to twitch a little. “Well, we’re not always on the clock, you know.”

Cover Girl smiled her widest smile and poked her finger into his chest. “And what if I did have a date?”

“Well, what if you did?” Shipwreck asked, almost defiantly.

Cover Girl took her rifle and jammed its butt into the ground, standing up. “Like I said, Hector, it’s none of your business anymore. We’re not together.” She shook her head. “I don’t know. All you’ve been doing since we’ve started this mission is needle me. What was up with that ‘Specialist Krieger’ nonsense in front of Clutch?”

“Ah, ha!” Shipwreck exclaimed, springing to his feet.

“’Ah, ha,’ what, Gilligan?”

“Look,” Shipwreck said, trying to keep his tone even, “just admit you have a thing for Clutch. I’m being serious. It’s okay.”

Cover Girl looked at Shipwreck the way an owner would look at her pooch if he pissed on a brand-new rug in the living room. “Seriously, Hector. Are you mental? Clutch? He chases anything in a skirt, pulse optional.” She shook her head and rubbed the heel of her hand on her forehead. Then she opened her eyes, looked at him and let loose. “Fine, whatever, you got me, Sheriff. The jig is up! You got me this time. I arranged this whole mission by getting Cobra to sell an old combat boat to a Third World Central American country so they could steal an experimental hovercraft. I did it so I could get close enough to Clutch, the most red-blooded alpha male in this outfit, and eventually meet up with him in San Diego to make my ultimate fantasy of holding hands and making smoochie faces on the Boardwalk come true.” Cover Girl grabbed her trash and stuffed it in a bag that she put in her backpack. She looked around to make sure that they’d left no sign of their presence and then slung the rifle around her shoulder. She walked away.

Shipwreck started to say, “Listen, I’m—”

“Save it, okay?” Cover Girl said without even looking back. “Let’s just get this job done. Want me to take point for a while?”

“Okay.”

Cover Girl glanced for a moment over her shoulder and said, “You know, I don’t get you. You broke up with me, and now, you’re jealous? You just—You know what? Never mind.”


	7. Chapter Five: Somewhere in Sierra Muerte, 1335, Local Time

####  **Chapter Five**

####  ** _Somewhere in Sierra Muerte_ **

####  ** _1335, Local Time_ **

Krieger tried to ignore the red-hot coal of anger inside her chest at that moment. Once upon a time, working with Hector had been a dream, even before they’d started dating. Sure, sometimes it had been like being with a spastic five-year-old who had ridden The Pirates of the Caribbean ride at Disneyland one too many times while high on Kool-Aid and pizza rolls, but Hector was a competent sailor and tenacious as heck. Krieger always looked forward to assignments with him because they were sure to be a hoot and a half. After a while, it had become her job to babysit Shipwreck so he wouldn’t do something stupid or dangerous, like the one time he’d stolen a Cobra Stinger, driven it into a Terror Drome, and fired all its missiles up through the Terror Drome’s ceiling. Of course, by doing that, Shipwreck had saved all their lives, but he couldn’t have hot-wired the jeep without her help.

Krieger slowed her pace a little. She saw from her periphery that Hector was casually keeping pace, rifle slung over his shoulder, keeping the firearm ready without looking tense. She was starting to think that maybe taking point was not a good idea. In uniform, she looked like one of the guys, but she wasn’t willing to bet real money that her ruse would last for long, and definitely not upon close inspection.

After leaving the dense brush, they came upon a clearing. According to the map that Beach Head had given them to memorize, this was a sign that they were three or four hours from their destination. Krieger was willing to bet that if they were going to get caught, this would be the place. Uneven terrain, rough grass and mud underfoot, no jungle canopy overhead for cover. The clearing looked like it had been a farm, or someone’s attempt at a farm, that just hadn’t worked out. 

Krieger heard a sound, boots crunching on grass. She sensed more than saw that Hector had stopped, turned around, and looked to see where the sounds were coming from. She stopped too and turned to look at Hector. He was poised, like a wound spring ready to go. He waved his hand in the air and whistled shrilly, said something in Spanish that sounded like, “Hola, compadres!” Krieger took a step towards Hector. 

Without turning around, he said in a low voice, “Just stand there and smile. Let me do all the talkin’. After all, we’re all just one big happy family patrolling a border together, right?”

“Got it.”

Off in the distance, about 40 yards and slightly elevated, were three soldiers, dressed in the same uniforms as Krieger and Shipwreck. Two were on foot. One had sunglasses and facial hair and sat on an ATV that looked like a Cobra Ferret. Krieger noticed that they’d stripped the armor and most of the armaments except for the side-mounted CFM-1 electric 10-round launcher. It was a huge gun that fired explosive rounds, probably powerful enough to level a few trees. The lighter the ride, the less gas it’ll use. But it made no sense to keep that gun because it was such a drain on power and heavy as sin. They would’ve been better off keeping the 50mm guns that were usually mounted on the handlebars. Seriously, men had issues with overcompensating sometimes.

The man on the ATV said something in very fast Spanish. Hector answered him back and smiled. 

Krieger’s Spanish was lousy, but she guessed Hector had made some kind of joke because the soldiers laughed. She took two steps toward Hector and quietly whispered, “What’s going on?”

Hector never took his eyes off the men and said just as quietly, “I told them we’re lost. Apparently, they’re the squad assigned to patrol this part of the border, and they’re wondering how we got here.”

“Just our luck.” Krieger said.

“Now _el jefe_ just radioed his CO to find out where we belong.”

“So basically, we’re royally screwed.”

“Well, not yet, but give it time and we will be.”

The soldier on the ATV was speaking rapidly into the black box he held in his hand. There was a crackle of static, then silence. Hector then yelled something over the distance. Krieger heard them say something about where to get good hookers in town or some other such nonsense. Krieger felt very exposed. She noticed that the soldiers had a good, clear shot at her and Hector from their vantage point. 

“We need to get out of here. Either they’ll shoot us or capture us, and I need to make sure I get to San Diego tomorrow for my date with Clutch,” Krieger said.

Hector looked sideways at Krieger and said, “That’s not fucking funny, Blondie.”

“I love it when you’re jealous, Dagwood,” she said, winking back at him.

“Ideas?”

“If we’re talking comics, I always loved the Sunday funnies. They’re in color.” Krieger pushed aside her field coat a little and showed Hector three smoke grenades. “Red, white, and blue.”

“How patriotic.”

“Pop, drop, and roll?” Krieger asked.

“On 3?”

“Three!”

Krieger grabbed one of the cylinders, released the pin, and threw it to the left of her. Shipwreck grabbed the other two and threw them to the right. They dove into the grass as red, white, and blue smoke billowed into the air. The men yelled loudly in Spanish, and Krieger heard the ATV roar to life. The smoke gave them some cover, but it also reduced their visibility. She laid on her belly and kept her rifle trained in front of her. It was slotted for semi-auto fire; she wanted to get rid of these guys without wasting her rounds foolishly. Krieger fired in the general direction of where the men had been standing. Then she heard a loud pop, the air above her heating up and an explosion ten feet behind her. She couldn’t believe it; the idiot was using an anti-armor weapon for close-range attack. He was probably doing donuts, circling in the smoke, crossing the field blindly. She fired off a few more rounds, heard some yelling, and figured either she’d hit them, or Hector had. Then she heard even more yelling and the loud growl of the ATV coming closer.

She was about to fire when she saw it was Hector driving through the smoke on the ATV, smiling like he’d just robbed a bank. He sang the song from the Pirates ride at Disneyland and skidded to a halt next to Krieger. 

He put out his hand, smiled his rakish grin, and was about to say something when Krieger interrupted him. “Let me guess. Come with me if you want to live?”

As she hopped on behind Hector, he said, “I was going to say get to the chopper, but that works too.”

She held on to him around his waist. “This isn’t a chopper. It’s an ATV.”

“Close enough,” he yelled as they drove into the jungle.

Krieger was going to say that Harley-Davidson would disagree, but she knew Hector wouldn’t be able to hear her over the sound of the wind and the engine.


	8. Chapter Six: Somewhere in Sierra Muerte near the Domingo River, 1542, Local Time

#### Chapter Six

####  _Somewhere in Sierra Muerte near the Domingo River_

####  _1542, Local Time_

Shipwreck gunned the Ferret the way he used to gun his moped as a teenager. He rode through a bunch of dirt roads, through bush and jungle, until he got close to the river. Cover Girl held on tightly at first, almost cutting off his breath, but then she held on loosely, like the .38 Special song advised. 

He remembered listening to that song on his portable radio as he’d worked on the moped in Uncle Al’s garage. Back then, he’d been a scrawny kid that no one could control. Uncle Al was the only one who had kept him out of trouble. He’d convinced Shipwreck’s mom to let her only son serve his country as a sailor. Both his parents had wanted him to do something else with his life—go to college, be the first in the family to graduate with a degree—but they’d both known since the day Shipwreck could walk, since his dad had started taking him to work at his welding job at the shipyard, since Uncle Al had told him stories of fighting river pirates on the Mekong Delta, that they’d lose their boy to the sea.

And now he’s gone, Shipwreck thought as he rode that ATV even harder. Uncle Al was gone. Forget it, think about the mission, he thought.

When they’d finally arrived at a point on the river about two klicks from the base where the hovercraft was being held, Shipwreck stopped the ATV. They hopped off the vehicle. Using the radio that Shipwreck had pilfered from the border patrol, he heard the chatter between the soldiers. As far as Shipwreck could tell, the border patrol guards had no idea of his and Cover Girl’s whereabouts. They had no idea if Shipwreck and Cover Girl were Americans or a Sierra Gordo advance invasion force. There was talk on the radio of some random explosions in and around the area where Shipwreck and Cover Girl had fled from. Shipwreck had a feeling those fireworks were the work of Outback and Tunnel Rat, trying to misdirect the Sierra Muerte forces by feeding their fears of an invasion.

Cover Girl helped Shipwreck strip the ATV of anything useful, which wasn’t much. They found four magazines for their AKs, a .45 automatic pistol that had seen better days, and a very basic first aid kit. Cover Girl took the spark plugs out of the ATV. She also cut the brakes, fuel lines, and the trigger control for the side cannon. Finally, she used her knife to slash the tires. When she finished, she was a greasy mess and wiped herself with some of the alcohol pads from the first aid kit they’d found. “Well, that helped us cut some time off this trip,” she said.

“Yeah,” Shipwreck replied. He clipped the radio to one of the shoulder straps on his rucksack, not really making eye contact with Cover Girl.

“Thank you, Hector.”

“We still make a good team.”

“Yeah, we do. Do you think there’s any way we can contact Outback without giving away where we are?”

“Maybe. These yokels don’t know enough to stop yammering on an open channel when one of their teams is down and missing a radio. I don’t want to underestimate them though. What do you have in mind?” Shipwreck asked.

“I just want to coordinate better,” Cover Girl said. “We’re pretty close to the base. We’re probably going to need a distraction to get in there, effect repairs, and then haul ass out of there.”

“I actually have an idea.” Shipwreck took the stolen radio and said a few words in a combination of Vietnamese and Mandarin. He was speaking in code to further confuse anyone listening, hoping Tunnel Rat would be monitoring the channel. “Tunnel Rat taught me some Chinese words over the years, and we both know a little Vietnamese. I told him our position and to meet us in an hour.”

“I think you butchered both languages, Ship. It sounds like you just ordered Combo Plate Number 2.”

“Not my fault he only taught me enough to get my face smacked in a bar. Anyway, I doubt our local friends travel to the Far East enough to understand anything I said.”

“They could have a handler from the local branch office of Extensive Enterprises helping them out. Those Crimson Guards are pretty smart.”

“You may be right,” Shipwreck said, “but I didn’t give away the farm. I told him I’m headed to Neiman Marcus for a new pair of pumps. He’ll figure out which of the predesignated meeting spots we’re at based on the code.”

Cover Girl and Shipwreck walked to a grassy spot overlooking the river. They sat with their backs against a large stone as they looked across the river to the east. Cover Girl teased Shipwreck, saying, “You should go for red leather. I always liked you in red.”

“Honey, I told you that wearing your frilly stuff was going to be a onetime thing.”

“Until you asked me that second time,” Cover Girl said, laughing.

“Face it, I look better in red lace than you do.” Shipwreck smiled. He’d forgotten how easy it was to go back and forth like this with Courtney, ribbing each other to help take the edge off. He looked into Cover Girl’s green eyes. Her hand was on the ground next to his, and he reached out and touched her glove briefly. “We’ll wait the hour for Tunnel Rat and Outback. If they don’t show, we’ll march over to the base and figure something out. Still, it was a good idea to find a way to coordinate with them.”

Cover Girl raised her eyebrows, looked down at the hand that Shipwreck had just touched, and said, “Okay.” 


	9. Chapter Seven: The Peabody Orlando in Orlando, FL, Three months prior to Cover Girl’s mission in Sierra Gordo

#### Chapter Seven

####  _The Peabody Orlando in Orlando, FL_

####  _Three months prior to Cover Girl’s mission in Sierra Gordo_

Courtney put her Class A uniform into a garment bag and zipped it up. She hung it inside one of the spacious closets in her room at The Peabody. This trip to Orlando had been unexpected but a welcome surprise during her recruitment tour for the Army. Since signing up for special duty with Recruiting Command, her accommodations were never this fancy. She was usually put up in whatever local barracks were near the events she attended. This was her first five-star hotel since she’d left her modeling career. Apparently, there was a very important charity function that weekend for a veteran group. Courtney was ordered to go to the function as a representative of the “New Army,” which was just code for women and anyone who wasn’t white. While her six-month assignment had been less than eventful thus far, this was a heck of a way to finish it.

USAREC had been up Courtney’s ass since she’d first enlisted in the Army. They wanted to use her as their walking, talking women’s recruitment poster, the exact opposite reason why she’d enlisted in the first place. To USAREC, she had the looks and the ability to represent the Army in a way that would snag potential recruits, men and women both. She resented the fact that she was seen as an example of a woman breaking the glass ceiling for those times when the press or activist groups called the Army an Old Boys’ Club and not as a competent soldier. She didn’t want to be a model anymore. This was exactly the type of attention Courtney had been trying to avoid when she’d signed up. 

But then Hector had gotten accepted for BUD/S training. Hector was put on the priority list for training because he was already a member of G.I. Joe, and training to be a SEAL would take at least six months. Courtney knew the training was something Hector not just needed but really wanted. Her relationship with Hector had been serious for a while now, and even though the training was intense and she’d rarely see Hector, she knew it was the right thing for him. So when he’d shipped out to California, Courtney had decided it would be a good time to take a break from G.I. Joe, maybe change things up for a bit. She’d finally take USAREC up on its offer to become their Barbie in the Army for a few months. It would distract her from missing Hector and get USAREC off her back. Win-win.

As her tour progressed though, she found the inspiration she needed to take the assignment seriously by remembering that third grader in Peoria whod called her a Barbie. It had stuck with Courtney. While she found her work with the G.I. Joe team very rewarding, most of it was covert. Courtney knew that there were plenty of girls out there that needed to see that Barbie could be a kick-ass tank driver. If that meant she had to basically do the modeling thing again, so be it. At least she was wearing her Class A uniform now and not half naked in bathing suits while some Australian douchebag took pictures of her. She had even made it a point to tell her new CO, no Duran Duran at any event she went to. Ever.

Courtney was wearing civilian clothes: leather jacket, a grey t-shirt with the Caterpillar logo, acid-washed jeans, and Keds. She had her Ray-Bans perched on her hair. She was on leave and had the day to do with as she pleased. As loath as she was to admit it, there was something she had wanted to do for a very long time. She wanted to shop for new clothes. She knew how girly that sounded, but while her former life as a model hadn’t been fulfilling, it hadn’t been all that bad either. Especially when she’d been able to try on new clothes every day. So she took her room key, twirled it on her finger, and put it in her pocket. 

She left the room and walked down the spacious hallway. She ‘d been able to requisition a car from the motor pool earlier so she could drive to Winter Park. Courtney had heard great things about the boutiques there. December in Florida was nothing like December back in Peoria. Here was sunshine and cool breezes with no snow to be seen at all. 

As Courtney walked towards the elevator, she saw a very tall man coming towards her. Built like a linebacker at 6’5”, he wore the class A uniform of a major. One of his strides was about as long as three of hers easily. He stopped about a pace and a half and to the left of Courtney.

She recognized him at once as an MP. Since he outranked her, she stood at attention and gave him a quick salute, relaxed a little because she was dressed as a civilian but formal enough to show respect. Courtney had worked with the major briefly about a month earlier when she’d been in Germany on a tour to encourage soldiers to re-up with Uncle Sam. He has been investigating the theft of some ground-to-ground missiles, the same type usually used in vehicles like the Wolverine. Courtney had been able to provide the major with some technical data that had helped him figure out how they’d been stolen.

The major returned the salute and said, “At ease, Soldier. Good to see you again, Krieger.”

“You as well, Sir. I didn’t expect to see you again so soon.”

“I go where the work takes me.”

“Here, Sir?”

“I can’t really talk about it.”

“Understood, Sir.”

“When are you due back from leave?”

“I have leave for the day, Sir.”

“And when you get back?” 

“I have a meeting with my team later concerning the itinerary for the rest of our stay here, including the fund-raising event tomorrow night. Tomorrow during the day, there are some photo ops. I think I have to give a presentation to a local Girl Scout troop about joining up. Usual for this duty assignment, Sir.”

The major said, “I might need your help again.”

“Same problem, Sir?”

“Yes, and you can drop the ‘Sir.’ The information you gave us in Germany was a big help. We were able to find the missiles, but now we’re on the trail of the original thieves, and we’ve tracked them to Miami. Since you’re the local expert on the experimental XW-01 projectile, we thought we could borrow you again.”

Courtney looked up at the major’s cold blue eyes. He was imposing, but he wasn’t demanding. “Are you ordering me to go to Miami, Major?”

The major nodded, almost smiled. “Well, not to burst your bubble, Specialist Krieger, but Orlando is a tourist trap. Miami has always been a little more authentically colorful.”

“You mean like on Miami Vice?”

“Miami what?”

“The cop show that was on TV a couple of years ago.”

“I don’t watch much TV,” he said.

“But you are aware of this thing called television, right?”

“Civilians own them? Waste away watching colored pictures on a lighted box? Maybe I’ve heard of it. The point is that while it’s not really my place to question the wisdom of the Army putting a highly qualified tank driver on recruiting duty, I think I can convince them this is more important. We need to go catch some very bad men doing very bad things with weapons they’ve pilfered from the American taxpayers.”

Courtney crossed her arms. She hated the fact that she had to crane her neck to look up at the major. Usually, she was the tallest in the room, but this guy was built like a slightly streamlined golem, capable of speed as well as power. If he’d gotten into fewer fights, he might even have been good looking too. “You know, I was supposed to go to Winter Park. I wanted to do some shopping,” Courtney said.

“Even a sheltered guy like me knows that Ocean Drive in Miami is a better experience,” the major replied, smiling with his eyes.

Before turning to go back to her room, Courtney said, “You owe me a dress, Major.”

“On my salary? Don’t bet on it. I’ll go clear things with your CO.”

Courtney gave one final salute, “Thanks a bunch, Major.”

“Just call me Reacher. Everyone else does.” 

Courtney watched as Major Reacher walked towards the room where her CO was staying. At that moment, she missed being on the G.I. Joe team. When things like this happened there, it was expected. USAREC was supposed to provide some stability, a way to forget about how much she missed—

Besides, as competent and as smart as Major Reacher was, he just wasn’t Hector. 

She missed her sailor. 


	10. Chapter Eight: Along the Bank of the Domingo River in Sierra Muerte, Twelve hours after Shipwreck and Cover Girl crossed the border from Sierra Gordo

####  **Chapter Eight**

####  ** _Along the Bank of the Domingo River in Sierra Muerte_ **

####  ** _Twelve hours after Shipwreck and Cover Girl crossed the border from Sierra Gordo_ **

** **

After ditching the Ferret, Krieger and Hector started to make their way towards the marine garage located on the Rio Verde. The Rio Verde ran from north to south towards the Pacific Ocean. The route of least resistance was to follow the Domingo River, which ran from northeast to the Rio Verde. Because it was so short, almost a tributary of the Rio Verde, the locals used it mainly for irrigation and fishing. It wasn’t a major trade route, and patrols paid it no mind because it was so far inland. Hector’s act of grand theft auto helped them gain valuable time since without the ATV, they would have never covered this great a distance in such a short time. If they’d remained on foot, the route they would have taken would have had fewer obstacles like brush and sentries but much longer.

Krieger wiped the sweat from her brow as she hid in the bush with Hector. She was very close to him, almost feeling his beard against her cheek as they lay belly down against the muddy ground. She had the .45 pointed in front of her while he had the AK. They both looked at the clear surface of the river, the humidity making everything steamy, sun high in the sky. 

“They’re running late,” Krieger said quietly.

“Give them time,” Hector whispered back. “They haven’t failed us yet.” 

“Not them I’m worried about. Time is not our friend.”

“We’ll make better time this way. Besides, weren’t you always saying how much you wanted to take a river cruise with me?”

Krieger grunted in frustration. “Really, Ship? You have to be a dick right now?”

“Who’s being a dick?”

“You are.”

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

“Am not.”

“Are n—Nyah—seriously, we’re not doing this,” Krieger said. “I don’t have a lot of bullets, but I can shove them up your backside faster than you can say, ‘John Deere sucks,’ if you keep this nonsense up.”

“It’s just a joke, honey. And again with the John Deere thing?”

“Dad didn’t own a Cat dealership for twenty-three years for his daughter to bleed Deere green. But— what the hell?” Krieger shook her head and gritted her teeth. “Now you have me saying nonsense. Mission, Shipwreck. For once, stop the jokes and concentrate on the mission.”

Shipwreck smirked a little and winked. He motioned with his eyes towards a point on the river where a dark spot had appeared. “Is that them?”

“Maybe?”

“Is that what you think of me?” Hector asked.

“What?”

“That I only tell jokes?”

“Again, Hector, time and place. But truthfully? It’s been hard working with you again, considering . . . ."

“Considering?”

“Considering . . . that you ended things three months ago and I still don’t know why. You have the field glasses?”

Hector paused before he took the binoculars from around his neck and handed them to Krieger. “Well?” he asked.

“Well, it’s two guys in a skiff with fishing gear. And yep, it’s them. I’d recognize Tunnel Rat and that ginger-bearded wild man Outback anywhere.” 

“It’ll be dark soon,” Hector said. “Once it’s safe, we’ll get picked up and we’ll be on our way.”

“I feel like we’re sitting ducks, Hector.”

“Just trust me for once."

“I always trust you, Sinbad.” She looked at Hector, searching his face, as if it held the answer to her previous unanswered question. “I just don’t get you.”

Hector kept his eyes on the water and said, “Two different worlds, you and me.”

“You always said that when we were together.”

“So?”

She shook her head. “Nothing."

“Look, you were the one that decided G.I. Joe wasn’t enough for you, and you decided to play Little Miss Recruitment Spokesmodel.”

Krieger raised her eyebrows and turned her head to look at Hector. “What the heck?”

“You heard me. Then you go running off with that sasquatch of a major to God knows where. ‘Chasing missiles’ was what you called it, right?”

Krieger’s mouth opened in shock. “Is this why—? No. No way you could be this dense. No flippin’ way. Are you kidding me, Ship?”

“Mission, remember? Focus on the mission?”

Krieger put the field glasses to her eyes and said, very quietly, “Yes, sir, Chief Delgado, sir.” 


	11. Chapter Nine: Delgado Residence, Chula Vista, California, Six weeks prior to Shipwreck’s mission in Sierra Gordo

####  **Chapter Nine**

####  ** _Delgado Residence, Chula Vista, California_ **

####  ** _Six weeks prior to Shipwreck’s mission in Sierra Gordo_ **

** **

Shipwreck stared at the cramped backyard of his parents’ home. The weather was comfortable and warm with a slight breeze coming off the ocean about seven blocks away. A few days ago, he’d been on a Navy icebreaker in the Bering Strait, finishing his arctic diving training. Then he’d gotten the call. He had to return home. The message from his father had been clear. Shipwreck’s request for leave had been granted quickly.

Uncle Al had passed away. 

It had been sudden. Uncle Al’s godson was getting married. He had been dancing at the reception, having a great time, but suddenly, he collapsed. He’d had a ruptured aneurysm. Uncle Al had just turned 50 and was still healthy, keeping to an exercise routine he’d had since he left the Navy, so the whole family was in shock. 

It had been tough for Shipwreck to keep in touch with Uncle Al these last few years. Working covert operations and then going for BUD/S training meant a lot of time under radio silence. Sometimes it took weeks for Uncle Al’s letters to find Shipwreck or for his letters to get to Uncle Al. The last time he’d seen Uncle Al was a year earlier when he’d managed to come for Thanksgiving, when he’d brought Courtney to meet the family. 

During the flight home for the funeral on a C-130 from Alaska to NAS Miramar, Shipwreck had considered contacting Courtney. In his last few letters, Uncle Al had asked when he was going to marry the supermodel, his nickname for Courtney. Shipwreck remembered being embarrassed by that, but Courtney laughed it off and said Uncle Al was a dead ringer for Al Pacino, which he’d loved. In fact, the entire family saw Courtney as the daughter they’d always wanted since the Delgado women were prone to having sons. Shipwreck had decided against contacting Courtney, though. The last he’d heard, she was on her way to Tel Aviv from Florida with that overgrown gamma irradiated MP major to act as an armory tech expert or some such shit.

Shipwreck now sat in a lounge chair in the backyard with the fig trees and garden that Uncle Al and his father had worked on together for almost every summer Shipwreck could remember, watching the sun set. He had changed out of his Class As and into jeans and a light blue polo shirt he had borrowed from his dad. Shipwreck heard a voice behind him say, “Your father looks good in that shirt.” He turned around and saw his mom standing there. She was short, a little heavyset, all dressed in black. She’d been busy serving coffee and cake to the visitors who’d been coming in and out of the house all day, paying their respects to the family for their loss. She tussled Shipwreck’s hair a bit and said, “I swear to God, you look like such an old man with that beard. Are you ever going to shave that thing off?”

“Gee, Ma. It looks fine. When are you going to stop dressing like an old washer woman?” Shipwreck asked, smiling a little.

“Old washer woman, eh? I beat you with that ‘old washer woman’ nonsense.” She smirked a little before hugging her boy. “Hector, it was so good of you to make it.”

“What do you mean? Of course, I’d make it. Uncle Al meant the world to me.”

“I know, but . . . I know, with the work you do, it’s so hard to. . . .” She trailed off and slid another chair across the patio and sat next to her son. “It was also good for your commanding officer to come.” 

Chief Warrant Officer Ed Leialoha, codenamed Torpedo, was the ranking Navy SEAL on the Joe team. He had been instrumental in getting Shipwreck into the SEAL training program. When Shipwreck had requested leave to go to the funeral, Ed had made it a point to meet him in San Diego. Torpedo had helped organize the military honors for Uncle Al. Ed had even presented the flag to Shipwreck’s dad, as he was Uncle Al’s next of kin. “Ed’s a good man,” Shipwreck said. “Uncle Al would have loved to meet him.”

His mother nodded. Then she looked at Shipwreck and asked, “But where was Courtney?”

Shipwreck was taken aback by the question. He exhaled and said, “We’re not really talking anymore.”

“But why? You two were so good together. Oh, Hector, what did you do?”

“What did I do? Why is it always me who had to have done something?”

She looked at him with a raised eyebrow. “You think I don’t know what kind of things you’re up to? Dating all those, those. . . floozies? Then you come home with a nice girl, brought up right, has brains, and now you say it’s done?”

“It’s a long story, and now isn’t the time or place.”

She shook her head. “You know—”

“Stop. Just. . . no more, okay?”

“All I was going to say was Uncle Al loved her. You know, she wrote the most beautiful letters.”

“What? She wrote letters to you?”

“With the most beautiful handwriting. Like gold.”

“She wrote letters to you, and you never told me?” Shipwreck asked. “Ma? What the hell—I mean, heck? What the heck?”

“Why? Do I have to tell you everything? Besides, I don’t know what you’re up to. All you tell me about is you go scuba diving and shoot guns.”

“Ma, it’s not like I’m at Club Med! Geez!”

“So yes, Courtney wrote me about what she was doing.”

“I know what she was doing. She was glamming it up while I was training to be a SEAL.”

“Glamming it up? What the hell are you talking about, glamming? No, no, Hector. She told me how, because you were going to be away, she wanted to use the chance to do some recruitment work.”

Shipwreck rubbed his eyes. “I don’t get it."

“She missed you, Hector. I swear, it’s like all that saltwater, it got in your brains! She told me the Army never wanted her working on tanks and kept pressuring her to do recruitment ads. She figured while you were away. . . ”

Shipwreck let her trail off, but then firmly shook his head. “No, Ma. You didn’t see what I saw.”

“What did you see?”

“Well, I didn’t exactly _see_ it, but I heard—”

She looked at her son and shook her head. “You know, Son, I love you, but you’re pretty stupid sometimes. I swear, I thank God every day you were born lucky.”

“Lucky? What do you mean, lucky?”

His mother patted him on the arm. “Do you know why I signed those papers to let you join the Navy?”

“You wanted me out of your hair?”

“I knew you were getting in trouble. I know Al and you . . . you two thought you were so smart. But I found out.”

“How—?”

“I ran into Danny Ruiz one day at the store, and we were talking. He let it slip out that he’d had you in the back of his police car after one of your joyrides on your, what you call it? Motor scooter?”

“Moped, Ma. It was a moped.”

“Moped, scooter, whatever. I was angry when I found out Al didn’t tell me about you getting into trouble, but I also knew Al loved you like you were his own, so I trusted him to help you. And as much as I would have loved for you to go to college and become a doctor or an accountant, I knew that would never happen. Your uncle’s service inspired you to take that smart-ass attitude and big mouth and use it for good.”

“Jeez, Ma. . . .”

“You got lucky you have good people around you. Otherwise, who knows what might have happened?”

Shipwreck stared at the sun setting behind the stockade fence in the backyard of his childhood home. 

“Look, Son. You’re a grown boy—grown man. You can make your own decisions. But you’re lucky to have good people in your life. Don’t throw them away by being stubborn.” She kissed his forehead and stood up. She said, “Come inside and eat. You need at least one good meal before you go back to Club Med.”

“Okay, Ma. Thanks.” After his mom walked back into the house through the sliding back door, Shipwreck felt tired. He knew she was right, but he also didn’t know how to get himself out of this mess. Even Claymores came with instructions that told you which side to point towards the enemy. With relationships, you never knew what would end up blowing up in your face. 


	12. Chapter Ten:  Sierra Muerte, 250 yards from the marine garage on the Rio Verde, Sixteen and a half hours after Shipwreck and Cover Girl crossed the border from Sierra Gordo

####  **Chapter Ten**

####  ** _Sierra Muerte, 250 yards from the marine garage on the Rio Verde_ **

####  ** _Sixteen and a half hours after Shipwreck and Cover Girl crossed the border from Sierra Gordo_ **

** **

Outback and Tunnel Rat had left Krieger and Shipwreck on the bank about 750 yards upriver, providing them with some fresh supplies, ammunition, and four M112 blocks of C-4 for the last leg of the journey to the marine garage. Krieger didn’t bother to ask where Outback and Tunnel Rat had gotten the gear. She and Shipwreck just spent the bulk of their river trip packing it. The C-4 blocks were particularly heavy. Krieger carried two, and Shipwreck carried two.

They’d made good time and were now hidden in the bush a few dozen yards away from the garage. Before Krieger and Hector had gotten out of the boat, Outback had told them to “wait for the surprise” before entering the garage. The surprise had turned out to be an explosion that could be heard for miles. The distraction was enough to lure the guards away from the bunker, leaving two to guard the Night Striker. Both stood outside the door, smoking cigarettes. Presumably, they were the more inexperienced kids, probably fresh off the family farm. 

Krieger threw a stone that made a very loud thump. When one guard went to investigate, Hector got behind the other and put him in a sleeper hold. The kid fell unconscious quickly. The first guard came back and saw Hector choking out his friend, so Krieger came out of the bush and jammed the butt of her rifle into his back. He fell, and Hector ran to him, kicking him in the side of the face. Hector lifted the guard’s arm and let it drop. He was out cold, too.

Krieger helped Hector drag the fallen soldiers to the side of the building obscured by the jungle growth. Hector took out two zip ties and fastened both soldiers’ wrists and ankles together. Hector took their knives and threw them away as far as possible.

After binding the soldiers, Krieger and Hector went to the door of the garage. It was unlocked. The garage itself was basically a Quonset hut about the length of a football field dug into the riverbank. The interior was a gray space lit by very harsh fluorescent lighting. Along three sides of the structure were concrete piers and moored to the left side was the Night Striker, a black hovercraft, a boat with a flying bridge and two rear fan turbines that floated on a steel/nylon composite mesh cushion. Krieger noticed that there had been damage to one of the turbines to the point she doubted she could get it to even stay on when they moved, let alone work. The other had some damage to the steering vanes. 

Krieger threw her backpack onto the deck of the hovercraft near an engine panel and jumped aboard. Hector headed to the end of the pier to apply the C-4 to the garage doors. Krieger figured they had about ten minutes tops to do their respective jobs.

As she worked, Krieger took note of the condition of the boat’s armaments. The cannons on each side of the hovercraft looked intact. There were two crow’s nest machine gun stations right in front of the flying bridge that gave access below decks. The depth charges were still loaded onto the side deployment mechanism. However, the missile launchers looked sketchy, as if the control arms that held the launching boxes in place would fall off any moment. She hoped that if needed, they’d have some kind of offensive capability.

She heard a thump on the deck of the boat. She looked up and saw Hector. 

“Where are your C-4 blocks?” he asked hastily.

“Backpack.”

“Can you get her to start?”

“Do politicians lie?”

Hector took the two blocks of C-4 and slid in feetfirst below deck through one of the machine gun stations.

“What are you doing, Sailor?” Krieger asked without looking up from the engine, digging into its guts with her tools.

“Insurance,” she heard him yell. “And that’s Chief to you, Specialist Krieger.”

“Aye, aye, Chief. Actually, that makes you captain of this rust bucket.”

“And that makes you my first mate. Stay on your game, or I’ll make you walk the plank.”

“Aye, aye, Captain Crunch.”

Krieger checked her watch. Four, maybe three minutes left? Then she’d be sailing on a cruise down the river, only instead of Gavin MacLeod, she’d be getting a crazy-ripped but still goofy Alan Hale Jr. as her skipper.

When she was done, she slammed the engine cover back on and tossed her tool bag and backpack onto the flying bridge of the hovercraft. “Ship, I’m gonna try and start this thing.” She didn’t wait for his reply, but she did see him crawl out headfirst from the crow’s nest. Krieger hit the button for the ignition, and one of the fan turbines roared to life. All the gauges held. Oil pressure, heat, all on point. Hector jumped in next to her. She said, “I did the best I could. We might be able to get ten, maybe fifteen knots.”

“Twenty would be better.”

“I’ll try and fix it as we sail. Just don’t hit any bumps. This swamp water is bad for my hair.” She removed the panel for the broken fan turbine and went to work.

Hector showed her the detonator for the C-4 on the marine garage door. He asked, “You want the honors?”

“That’s a girl’s toy. I’m busy doing real work.”

“Suit yourself, sailor.”

Krieger shook her head in frustration over being called sailor. Then she heard a loud succession of booms as Hector hit the button on the detonator. She looked up from the engine briefly to see the garage door falling off its hinges. The way forward was now clear. 

From behind the boat, Krieger heard loud voices in Spanish and pops of small arms fire. The guards had come back and were now in a panic, trying to stop their getaway. She yelled to Hector, “Stop showing off and move it!” She got her .45 from her holster and fired it at the space between the two turbines. She was no sharpshooter, but she hoped the flying bullets would throw off their aim. They did, and Hector hit the accelerator hard. The hovercraft lurched forward and headed out the opening in front of them where the garage door used to be. The hovercraft limped and stalled as only one of its fan turbines was working, sputtering to life and stalling over and over.

“No go,” Hector yelled. 

Krieger taped up some hoses and slammed the engine panel shut on the turbine. “Try it now!” she yelled as she stood up next to Hector at the controls.

Hector flipped a switch, and the dead turbine sputtered to life. The first stopped stalling and roared. “This bucket is hard to steer,” he said.

“You’re lucky I got it to move at all. You got about 25 knots now, but I suggest you don’t push it until we need it. I put that turbine back together with prayers and bubblegum.”

“Good job, First Mate.” Hector laughed and started singing the song from the Pirates of the Caribbean ride at Disneyland. 

They cleared the small inlet that led to the marine garage and sailed down the river. Krieger knelt by a black box near the base of the bridge. 

“What are you doing?” Hector asked.

“Setting up my own insurance policy. This black box here, this is the stealth package. It doesn’t look too damaged, and those farm boys were smart enough to know not to mess with it. If I can get this thing to work, we might be able to hide while we run.”

“You really think you can get it to work?”

“I did it once on my Wolverine. It’s the same basic component. Do we have a tail yet?”

Hector looked down at Krieger and said, “The only tail I see is—”

“Stow it, Skipper.”


	13. Chapter Eleven: On the Rio Verde in Sierra Muerte, Twenty hours after crossing the border from Sierra Gordo

####  **Chapter Eleven**

####  ** _On the Rio Verde in Sierra Muerte_ **

####  ** _Twenty hours after crossing the border from Sierra Gordo_ **

** **

Shipwreck glanced down at Cover Girl fiddling with the black box under the instrument console of the hovercraft. “Well?” he asked.

“It’ll hold. For now.” She’d managed to get the sound dampener on the good turbine to work, but the bad one still made some noise, about as much as a small motorboat. “I managed to get the Night Force stealth package to work. We should be invisible to radar, and the black paint will make us hard to spot in the dark. Oh, here.” She handed Shipwreck a pair of beat-up night vision goggles. “Keep those handy. It’s already dusk and should get darker soon.”

“Where’d you find these?”

“Below the console.” She stood up and flipped some switches and looked at the indicator lights on the dashboard. They didn’t turn on. “Damn. The right missile launcher still won’t work. The left’s okay if it doesn’t short out. I also did my best to make steering easier, but those vanes are warped.”

Shipwreck stood at the controls, making small adjustments to compensate for the steering vanes attached to the turbines. This section of the river was wide, so there was plenty of room to navigate. Shipwreck stayed along one of the banks as close as possible. The added cover of the bush hid their silhouette. “Did you get the self-destruct mechanism to work?” Shipwreck asked.

“No,” Cover Girl replied. “Really, there’s not a lot of structural damage. With more time and a decent garage, I could have had this thing seaworthy in about a day and no worse for wear. But then I look at the electronics and see the problem is that whoever wired the Night Force black box into the rest of the system did it wrong. Remember when Beach Head told us that the original crew tried to scuttle this thing before it was captured?”

“Yeah,” Shipwreck said.

“Well, when they tried to activate the self-destruct, it shorted out a lot of systems because the Night Force box was wired wrong. That’s why it crapped out. Hopefully, we’ll be okay now that I got everything working again—well, almost everything. But jostle this thing too much, and it’ll whine like a second-place pageant mom.”

“Do you think you could just disable the self-destruct so I can safely disconnect the charges?” Shipwreck asked. “I have an idea.”

“Sure, but give me a minute.” Cover Girl sat down on the floor of the flying bridge. She pulled out her canteen and drank some water. She offered it up to Shipwreck.

Shipwreck took the canteen and took a swallow himself. He watched Cover Girl lift her arms over her head and stretch. Though the army fatigues she wore were bulky and coarse, he smiled as he thought about the lithe body underneath. He was amazed at how well Cover Girl had held this rig together. During their getaway, while the bullets were flying and Shipwreck was driving the hovercraft fast and loose, she had been focused on her job. No wonder she was tired now. All that nervous tension had finally gotten a chance to uncoil. “Hey, Courtney?” Shipwreck said.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you for saving us back there. You did okay, Soldier.” Shipwreck smiled at her. “Couldn’t have done it without you.”

Cover Girl stood up. “You’re not bad yourself, Sailor. You did some mean driving back there.” She smiled back at him and pushed a lock of hair from her eyes, getting grease on her cheek. 

“You smudged yourself,” he said as his eyes lit up. “It’s okay though. I’ll take engine grease over eye shadow any day.” 

Cover Girl didn’t say anything for a bit. She watched the dials on the instrument dashboard and then asked, “How far until we get to the rendezvous point?”

“Well, according to the GPS, we have ten kilometers to go until we leave the river and another fifty after we reach the ocean. At this rate, three, maybe four hours?”

“We’ll just make it if we don’t hit trouble,” she said.

“Like that Moray from the briefing?” Shipwreck asked.

Cover Girl nodded. 

“Hey, do you think you can hold this course for a while? The radar isn’t picking up anything, and I think I can disconnect those explosive charges.”

“Well, the self-destruct is pretty much zapped, so there’s no danger of a whoopsie there. You sure you can trust me to sail this heap, Captain?”

“I always trust you.”

* * *

Down in the hold under the cabin, Shipwreck finished wiring the last of the explosives to the water sled stored under the cargo hold of the boat. Courtney had said guns and missiles on the boat may malfunction if they got caught with their skivvies down, so they had few options in terms of armaments. That gave Shipwreck the idea for the water sled. The sled was basically a boogie board with surveillance gear and propelled by water jets. There was a spring-loaded mechanism that allowed the sled, piloted by one person, to be jettisoned out the front of the hovercraft through the forward bay door in the bow.

Shipwreck checked the launch mechanism. It looked like it would work in a pinch. The sled was supposed to be a stealth vehicle, designed to gather intel on the enemy by a frogman. He knew when the time came, someone would have to come down here, set the timer, and launch the sled at whatever was blocking their way. He’d made sure there were enough explosives on the sled to blow a small boat in half.

He crawled back up into the cabin, then went headfirst through the machine gun station onto the outer deck of the ship to the flying bridge. It had gotten dark while he was below decks. The cloud cover was heavy, blocking the moonlight. Shipwreck asked Courtney, “How’s tricks so far, Mate?”

“I’ve been following the GPS beacon, and it looks like we’ll be in open waters in another two hours, maybe an hour and a half. She’s still a bitch to steer, but I’m getting used to her”

Shipwreck said, “I rigged whatever explosives I could find to the water sled. If need be, I can set the timer and launch it.”

“Funny, because I finally got the missile launcher working.”

“How?”

“Hairpin.”

“Really?”

“No, dumbass. I replaced the fuse in the fuse box. If we get in a firefight though—”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t remind me. Bubblegum and glue.” 

They looked out on the horizon. The sky was purple, and there were some lights from the farmhouses along the river. If Shipwreck didn’t check the GPS, he could’ve sworn they were sailing on any river in the middle of America. The night vision goggles were on the console, within arm’s reach if needed. 

The boat’s murmur was quiet now. The turbines were working rhythmically to propel them down the river. The effect was almost hypnotic. Shipwreck then heard himself say the words, “Uncle Al passed away.” He didn’t know why he had said them. Maybe it was the near silence. Maybe it was just the moment standing next to Courtney in this quiet place after the ear-shattering noise they’d just endured. Whatever the reason, he just said them. Once he’d said them, he turned and looked at Courtney. Their eyes met. 

Her eyes went wide. Her hand went to his shoulder. “When?” she asked.

“A month ago.”

“Oh my God, Hector. How did it happen?”

“It was pretty sudden. Aneurysm.”

“I’m so sorry. He was such an amazing man. He thought the world of you.” Courtney put her hands back on the controls, but her eyes misted. “I wrote to your mom for a while. We started writing back and forth after that visit at Thanksgiving. She told me that Uncle Al was bragging about you.” She paused, and then said, “I miss her letters.”

“Yeah, well, she misses you, too.”

“You saw her?”

“At the funeral.”

Courtney’s eyes widened. It was getting darker, but Shipwreck could still make out her face in the green light from the radar scope on the dash. “Weren’t you at BUD/S?”

“They gave me leave to go to the funeral.”

Courtney bit her lip. “You didn’t call me.” It was more a statement than a question.

“I know.”

“Why?”

“Courtney—”

“Why, Hector?”

Shipwreck shook his head a little, glanced at the radar scope, and looked across the horizon. “We were broken up, you know, and—”

“We were together for two years. Two flippin’ years! Before that, we were practically best friends, since covert ops training. We’ve saved each other’s lives how many times? And you couldn’t call me?”

Shipwreck looked at Courtney squarely. “Not easy to know what to do in that situation.”

Courtney sighed. The green light from the scope made her look tired. 

“I know you’re mad,” Shipwreck said. “I wouldn’t blame you.” Shipwreck could never remember a time when Courtney wasn’t in control of her facial expressions. But right now, with her face outlined in cathode ray green, she looked like the world had swallowed her heart whole and left a black hole in her chest.

She swallowed a little and said, “I’m not mad. I’m hurt, but not mad.”

“Why?”

Shipwreck saw a tear stream down Courtney’s cheek. The only times he’d ever seen her cry before was when she’d been shot, stabbed, or punched in the nose. 

She looked down at her hands and said, “You’re my best friend, and you didn’t want me there for you. Seriously, what the hell did I do to screw up our friendship this badly?”

Shipwreck was surprised by this display of emotion. He could feel his own heart get heavy. “Hey, hey,” Shipwreck said as he took the wheel from Courtney. “Eyes up. I don’t want us getting blown up until we clear the air between us. I always thought you saw me as an overgrown kid that needed a babysitter.”

Courtney laughed and said, “But you are! Holy jeez, you are an overgrown kid, but you’re also kind and funny. And you’re a crack shot with a rifle. You also tie a good, tight knot. What’s there not to love? You were _my_ overgrown kid, Hector. But I know, deep inside, what you really are.”

“I’m just a pirate. A princess like you deserves better.”

“But you’re also a man with a great character who always does the right thing. I’m a lucky gal to have you, Hector X. Delgado.”

“Then why did you leave G.I. Joe?”

Courtney looked Shipwreck directly in the eyes. “Truth?” she asked.

“Truth.”

“G.I. Joe is boring without you.”

Shipwreck held back a laugh. “The fuck you say.”

“Language! Jeez! But yeah. Kicking Cobra in the teeth isn’t as much fun without you there, you big galoot.”

“See, I always thought you had buyer’s remorse about leaving your old life. About. . . everything.”

“About us?” she asked quietly.

Shipwreck shrugged his shoulders. He said, “I got a pass three months ago, hoping maybe we could get together, and found out you were in Orlando. On a recruitment tour, of all things so, when I heard that—”

“—You thought that I wanted to go back to being a plastic fantastic supermodel. You know they were always pushing me to do those tours, right? You going to BUD/S and me being lonely, it all seemed to be a good way to, you know. . . get my mind off. . . things.”

“Things?” Shipwreck raised an eyebrow.

“You.”

“So why did you go to Miami with that jacked-up major?” Shipwreck asked.

“The MPs needed my help tracking down some stolen missiles. I got drafted. In the Army, no less!”

“I saw that guy. He was huge for a major.”

“You mean Major Reacher? Look, I’ll admit, he’s not a bad guy. Professional, competent, focused—”

“All the things I’m not,” Shipwreck interjected.

Courtney remembered her a-ha moment from earlier in the day when they had been hiding by the riverbank, waiting for Outback and Tunnel Rat. “So is that really why—?”

Shipwreck said nothing.

“It is, isn’t it? You thought—”

“Yeah,” he said. “I did.”

“Huh.”

“What do you mean, ‘Huh?’”

“You thought . . . me and him?”

“You said it just now,” Shipwreck said. “He’s professional, competent, focused. He’s even taller than you.”

Courtney raised an eyebrow. “What did your mom tell me in one of her letters? That all that saltwater was rotting your brain?”

“That sounds like her. But admit it. Major Reacher or whatever, he’s just like you.”

“But,” Courtney continued, “he’s so boring. I mean, when we got into a fistfight with the bad guys, it was like. . . like doing math homework. He was calculating and focused—enjoying himself, sure—but it was so clean and planned. But when you and I fight side by side, it’s a barrel of laughs. We’re having fun. And that’s why I love you, Hector.”

Shipwreck felt himself blush under his beard, hearing those words again from Courtney. “Look, maybe I should have been a little more secure about things. I even thought that I may have gotten things wrong, but after we broke up, you didn’t even really say anything. You kind of looked like you were okay with it.”

Courtney let out a long sigh. She clenched her jaw. Then she said, “I envy you, Hector.”

“Why?”

“You’re always living in the moment. You know that Hallmark greeting card saying, ‘Dance like no one is watching?’ That’s the exact opposite of my life. My whole life has always been about planning and staying focused and presenting a face to the world I want them to see. I mean, I get guff all the time from the guys in the unit. I’m Miss Revlon who can’t ever break a nail. How bad would it look if I cried over you? Guys like Clutch would get a kick out of that, and the Army is full of Clutches.”

Shipwreck stood silent for a moment as the murmur of the turbines and the wake of the water behind them filled the air with sound. “I never really thought about all that. I just always thought . . . you wanted better.”

“I did. I do. And I got it. Back when I was a real cover girl, my whole life was pretty much laid out in front of me. I had the plan. Then one day, I took a leap and enlisted. And it led me to you. I’d say I got the better life I wanted.” She smiled and kissed his cheek just above his beard.

Shipwreck smiled, feeling the skin under his beard get warm. He leaned towards her and said, “So basically, I’m the wild card in your deck.”

“The wildest, Sailor.” She put her arms around his neck. 

Then, as their faces got closer to one another, a loud beeping noise sounded, and a red light flashed on the console. They pulled away from each other and stood at the ready, Hector at the piloting station, Courtney’s hands on the firing controls for the weapons.

“Damn it all to hell!” Courtney yelled. “Proximity alarm!” She looked at the radar scope. “We got three, maybe four contacts at the mouth of the river. I don’t think they’ve seen us yet. They just seem to be patrolling. Probably waiting to ambush us.”

“I like surprise parties. They shake things up,” Shipwreck said as he piloted the boat forward, reducing speed.

Courtney’s face hardened as she kept watch over the radar scope and the weapons control. “It looks like we have a lot of stuff to sort out. If we get out of this alive, that is.”


	14. Chapter Twelve:  At the mouth of the Rio Verde on the Pacific Ocean, Twenty-two hours after crossing the border from Sierra Gordo

####  **Chapter Twelve**

####  ** _At the mouth of the Rio Verde on the Pacific Ocean_ **

####  ** _Twenty-two hours after crossing the border from Sierra Gordo_ **

** **

Krieger left the flying bridge to man one of the machine gun stations. She then slid a pair of night vision goggles over her eyes. The flying bridge was located behind her and the noise from the turbines was loud, so she put on the headset that hung by the machine gun station and plugged it into a nearby jack. She’d never gotten a chance to test the intercom on the boat, so she hoped it was in working order. She flipped the switch and said, “Testing, testing.”

She was relieved when she heard Hector’s voice, even though it was fuzzy. “Test, test. Yo, ho, ho, and a bottle of rum.”

“I hear you, Captain Morgan,” Krieger said as she did a quick visual inspection on the gun.

“How many fictional captains do you know?” Hector asked.

“More than the number of actual supermodels that you know.”

“I know a lot of supermodels.”

“The pinups in your locker don’t count. What does the scope say?”

There was silence over the intercom as Krieger scanned the horizon. In the green haze of the goggles, she saw three small PBRs and a very large boat that had the same silhouette as a Cobra Moray. The boats were not moving. 

Hector’s voice crackled over the intercom. “Four hostiles, three little meanies and a big ugly brother.”

“We might be looking at their entire navy. They’re probably on the lookout for us.”

“Why haven’t they moved?”

Krieger said, “The Night Force stealth package must be working. We probably look like a bunch of alligators on their radar.”

“That’s good, right?”

“Well, sure, if we were gonna stay here all night. Eventually, we have to bust through that line and we don’t have much time. We’re close to the 24-hour mark for our rendezvous with Cutter.”

“Why should things be easy when they can be hard instead?” Hector quipped. “Those little PBRs don’t have the range or the speed to catch us. But that Moray? On the open ocean, she’ll wrap her coils and choke us like Andre the Giant chokes Hulk Hogan.”

“I agree. Ideas?” Krieger asked.

“The Moray is too big to maneuver on the river. Advantage: us. We can sink it with some missiles, blast on through.”

Krieger said, “To do that, we have to shut the stealth box off. The wiring is all bad and I’m afraid something will blow, and those missiles just become useless toys. To be honest, I’m surprised this boat hasn’t blown a fuse yet.”

“Will it?”

“I hope not. Maybe I should have used a hairpin to fix it after all. We just have to get passed that Moray. I can shoot, draw their fire. You use the cannons when those guys get close and pick them off. But don’t stress the firing system. Once the fuses start popping—”

“—They’re like Pringles; once they pop, they just don’t stop. Duly noted,” Hector answered. 

As Krieger started to get ready to fire her gun, she heard Hector laugh. She said, “You have a crazy idea, don’t you?” The engine noise went from a low rumble to a loud, monstrous roar. The boat moved directly towards the blockade. 

“The craziest. Yo, ho, matey!”

“I told you to get their attention, not shove the Macy’s 4th of July fireworks display up their keisters. Holy sh—”

“Language, Krieger! Just start firing and leave the driving to me.”

“When I’m in range. I hope you know, no matter what, I—”

“I do, babe.”

Krieger waited, thumbs on the trigger, the engines loud and obnoxious. She wondered how Hector had disconnected the stealth box—_if_ he disconnected the box. In her goggles, she saw the surface of the water behind the PBRs start to churn. The enemy had heard them coming and were on their way to meet the hovercraft. If Krieger and Hector were lucky, the enemy didn’t have night vision capability. As the PBRs got closer, Krieger pushed the trigger on her machine gun and fired. The PBRs returned fire, the bullets whizzing by like metal hornets. 

The muzzles flashed from the two side-mounted 105mm “pounder” cannons on the hovercraft. The hovercraft tilted and rocked but somehow, Hector managed to hit one of the PBRs. The enemy boat burst into a fiery explosion on the water. Hector piloted the hovercraft close enough to the flaming wreckage that Krieger felt the heat on her face. She was about to tell him what a great shot he’d made when he fired twice more, hitting another PBR in the aft. 

Krieger tried to keep her aim with the gun steady, but Hector’s driving was rough. Then came the pops and static over the intercom. “Ship, are you okay?”

“Yeah, just got a shock.”

“I told you, be careful. The system can only handle so much.”

The boat lurched towards the last PBR and the Moray. Krieger was blinded for a minute by white flashes in her goggles coming from the enemy boats ahead. The flashes were RPG fire streaking across the air, the explosive shells landing in the path of the hovercraft. The concussive force of the blasts would have torn holes in the deck plates if Hector hadn’t maneuvered the hovercraft. Instead they just scratched the reinforced mesh of the air cushion that the hovercraft floated on, blowing up just at the water’s surface. It made for a rough ride, but it kept the hovercraft afloat. Krieger started to think that Hector was taking Beach Head’s suggestion of bringing the hovercraft back in at least three pieces to heart. 

The Moray was getting closer, but the PBR was passing in a wide arc on the right, coming in, laying down some fire, and then pulling away again. That was when the crow’s nest gun station to Krieger’s right, the one she wasn’t sitting in, started to fire on its own. On the hovercraft, both machine guns could be aimed and fired when unmanned, either manually from the bridge or automatically in patterns preset on the boat’s onboard computer. Krieger knew Hector had been pushing this boat to its limit already, but she had a bad feeling the hovercraft was about to push back. The more automated systems were activated, the more of a strain it put on the electrical system. Krieger yelled over the intercom, “Hector, turn that thing off!” 

“But why should I?” Hector’s voice came in very scratchy through the headset before there were some more quick pops and the intercom went dead. The hovercraft came to a halt. 

“Because you just blew out the system. Damnit!” Krieger hopped out of the machine gun station to get back to the flying bridge. Once there, she opened an access panel under the console and started the engines back up using the bypass system. When the engine roared back to life, she looked up at Hector, stripping to his skivvies. “What the hell?”

“Time to cash in on my insurance policy.”

“You don’t need to strip to launch a sled.”

“I’m not just launching it. Take the controls.”

Krieger stood up and took the wheel. Hector started to go below deck. “Get back here, Hector,” she yelled over the turbines.

“Just trust me.”

“I do trust you, but damnit, this is still insane!” It was insane because she knew Hector was going to pilot that water sled up to the Moray, set the timer himself, and try to swim away. And as much as she wanted to stop him, she couldn’t. She couldn’t because she knew he was that damn stubborn. “Shipwreck, just. . . just—”

“What, Court?” He turned to look at her, backlit by the flaming wreckage in the river behind him.

“Be careful. I love—”

“Stop!” he said, interrupting her. “Tell me when I get back.”

“You’d better,” she said, her voice cracking. 

He winked at her and said, “Hey, this is me we’re talking about.” Then he slid down into the cabin below.

Krieger veered the hovercraft towards the Moray, which was now about 800 yards away and closing. It was firing its side guns, missing but not by much. Krieger pushed on the lever for the throttle, and the boat jerked forward before picking up steam. The access door in the bow flew open and spit out the water sled, Hector piloting the craft as the foam of the water jets streaked behind him. When he was far enough away, she turned hard to the left—in her head, she heard Hector correcting her: _It’s port! Port, you landlubber!_

High caliber rounds were tinging against the hovercraft’s plating from her 3 o’clock. It was the third PBR. Krieger had forgotten about that little guy. She looked to the right side—Starboard? Whatever—and saw the missile launcher was loaded. There were also still five depth charges ready on the deployment ramp.

Wait a minute, Krieger thought. The Night Force black box was there, in her line of sight, under the control console, its green LED lights blinking. Hector never got a chance to turn it off, but he’d tried. She noticed that Hector had pulled a couple of wires out, but the stealth box was still active. It’s probably why he’d thought it had been okay to turn on the automated firing system. It was their dumb luck that the only backup system that worked on the hovercraft was the one that kept the Night Force black box functioning. 

This was her moment of clarity. All the problems with the hovercraft had to do with the rats’ nest of wires from that black box in the electrical system. Too many components hooked up to too much bad wiring. Right now, that black box was about as useless as Clutch at a feminist convention. Krieger quickly ripped the rest of the wires out, taking the .45 on the console and jamming the butt of the gun into the box a few times, pounding it for good measure. Sparks flew, and the LED lights blinked out. The Night Force stealth package was dead. She then flipped a few bypass switches, hoping they’d hold. 

Keeping the hovercraft on course, she deployed the depth charges on the ramp as she banked to port. The gate opened and the charges rolled down the ramp, sinking into the water one by one, the circuits didn’t even strain, much less blow a fuse.

The PBR was speeding up her rear now, firing its bow machine gun indiscriminately. Krieger sped away as fast as she could. The shock waves came up through the water from the exploding depth charges behind the hovercraft. It was enough to capsize the PBR. Krieger knew those kids would never get the boat righted in time to catch her.

The Moray was now up Krieger’s six. Even at the widest part of the river, she knew the hovercraft could run rings around that massive beast, even with her limited piloting skills. In another moment of clarity, Krieger thought It was absurd that the fate of a multimillion-dollar piece of defective equipment was being determined by a supermodel tank driver and a bunch of farmers in a giant boat too big for the river, but that was where Krieger found herself. She knew her 105mm cannons wouldn’t do much against the Moray, but the missiles might. They might give Hector the time he needed to let them both escape.

Because they would both escape.

Krieger kept one hand on the steering yoke and the other on the firing controls for the missiles. She had the scope in the corner of her eye while trying to keep the hovercraft from hitting the bank of the river. The firing controls gave her a green light and she let the missiles fly.

The eight missiles on the hovercraft—four in the port launcher, four in the starboard—flew into the air in a narrow parabola and landed around the Moray, exploding in the water, rocking the Moray enough to slow its pursuit. Not good, but as Krieger checked the scope, she realized the Moray had stopped dead in its tracks as she sped ahead. Probably spooked them, Krieger thought. She slowed the throttle on the hovercraft and did a hard 180 to face the Moray. 

Then, she said to no one, “You’re not the only one who can do crazy, Hector,” as she hit the throttle full-on. The fan turbines roared like a cocaine fueled West Berlin discotheque on a Friday night, headed towards the Moray. She hit the trigger button on the steering yoke. The 105s fired hard and fast, shaking the hovercraft and lighting up the night with its muzzle flashes. The shells hit the side of the Moray and exploded, but the Moray was still upright and firing its guns at the hovercraft.

Then there was another explosion bursting from the port side of the Moray. Krieger felt more than heard the outward expulsion of heat, light, and air as the Moray calved in half. She turned hard to port to avoid the flaming wreckage. Men splashed in the water. She slowed the hovercraft and turned towards the wreckage. She had to go back and get Hector. 

He was okay, of course. He always got out of crap like this. The Moray was sinking and the voices of men screaming in Spanish were dying down. The fire from the Moray was smoldering now, covering the area with thick smoke. Krieger coughed. It felt as if an eternity had passed but it was probably more like two minutes. Against her better judgement, she idled the engines and waited. The night air was now still. Three minutes had passed. Then four.

The open sea was behind her. She knew that in another minute, she’d have to turn the hovercraft around and go or risk being late for the rendezvous, but her anchor was here, and she wasn’t leaving without him. 

She let him go once. Never again—

There was a thump at the bow of the hovercraft. She pulled the .45 that was on the console and aimed out on the deck of the hovercraft, seeing the ghostly figure as she lowered her night vision goggles over her eyes. 

Hector yelled, “Don’t shoot, don’t shoot!” 

Krieger lowered her gun and exhaled a sigh of relief. “Oh, thank God,” she exclaimed.

Hector jumped onto the bridge. “Honey, stop posing and get us the hell out of here.”

Krieger hugged him, smelled him, and realizing he was naked except for his boxers, smiled, feeling warm all over.

“Never serious, are you, Krieger? Let’s go home.”

Krieger said, “Aye, Captain.” She turned the hovercraft around, hit the throttle, and headed for the open sea. She hummed to herself, “Yo, ho, yo, ho, a pirate’s life for me.”


	15. Chapter Thirteen: International waters in the Pacific Ocean off the coast of Central America, three hours until rendezvous time with USNS Navajo

####  **Chapter Thirteen**

####  ** _International waters in the Pacific Ocean, off the coast of Central America_ **

####  ** _Three hours until rendezvous time with _USNS Navajo **

No one gave pursuit. As Courtney and Shipwreck figured, the four boats they’d encountered and dispatched made up the entire Sierra Muerte Navy. Shipwreck piloted the hovercraft out of the mouth of the river and into the ocean, heading towards the predetermined coordinates in the Pacific. They broke radio silence to contact the _Navajo_ and found out through coded transmission that the convoy had been delayed. Shipwreck couldn’t help but laugh. “Basically,” he said, “we had another six to twelve hours before the rendezvous.”

Courtney shook her head. “So, we could have just snuck by the blockade instead of shooting our way through?”

“Yeah, but it wouldn’t have been as much fun.”

Within an hour, they had arrived at the rendezvous point. Shipwreck turned off the fan turbines and let the hovercraft drift. Fortunately, the water was relatively calm, and the winds were light. The GPS indicator would issue an alarm if the hovercraft drifted too far from the mark.

Once stopped, Courtney motioned subtly for Shipwreck to come closer. He stepped closer to her, and she touched her fingers to his bare chest. “Jeez, look at you, Hector.” Courtney turned the dashboard lights on. She winced when she saw the marks on him. “Holy crow, you not only lost your clothes, but you got some bruising and burns.” She rubbed his shoulders gently.

Shipwreck grinned as he slid her hands from his shoulders and gently kissed the backs of her fingers one at a time. “It’ll heal, but you know, I was curious about something. You remember before I jumped on that water sled, risking my life to save this malfunctioning piece of American property?”

Courtney slid her hands up around his neck as his settled on her waist. “I think I had a hand in saving your bacon and this rust heap, too. Anyway, I’ll bite.” Her laugh was subtle and low. “What were you curious about?” 

“Weren’t you going to say something before I jumped into the water?”

“Gee, I don’t know. With all those bullets flying, I think I forgot.”

Shipwreck leaned in and kissed Courtney, parting her lips as he held her close to his almost naked body.

After what seemed like a sweet eternity, she said, “Okay, now I remember. Oh, Maverick! Take me to bed or lose me forever!”

Shipwreck rakishly raised an eyebrow and said, “I swore it was going to be something else, but I’ll give you points for quoting _Top Gun_. It’s technically a Navy movie.” 

Shipwreck leaned back against the side of the bridge as Courtney unbuttoned her bulky canvas shirt. He slid it off her shoulders, revealing her olive drab tank top beneath. He trailed a line of warm, wet kisses along her neck, starting just behind her ear and working his way down to her shoulder.

Courtney felt Shipwreck’s beard graze along her skin, and it sent shivers down her spine. “How long do we have?” she whispered.

“Two, maybe three hours?”

“No bogeys in the neighborhood?”

Shipwreck checked the scope. “All clear.”

“Then meet me below deck, Sailor.”

“Order acknowledged, Soldier.”

* * *

Shipwreck entered the cabin below deck through the machine gun station. The space was lit by two halogen strips along the sides of the cabin, and the bulkheads were painted black. All the surfaces were hard, metallic, and cold. By the bow of the boat, Shipwreck spotted an emergency thermal blanket laid out on the floor. Courtney stood beside it naked, her boots and fatigues piled in the corner, her white skin and blonde hair the only soft things in the cabin.

Shipwreck couldn’t help but be impressed by Courtney’s curves. She still had her supermodel physique, but it was hardened now by combat. Her skin almost glowed from being under the equatorial sun all day. Shipwreck dropped his boxers and stalked toward Courtney, grabbing her wrists and pulling them up over her head as he pushed her against the bulkhead. He kissed her roughly, his tongue invading her mouth as she strained against him, desperate for more. 

Courtney reached up and laced her fingers with his, bringing his arms down to his sides and pulling him closer. His eager cock, already hard for her, slipped between her thighs, and he wasn’t the least bit surprised to find that she was already wet for him. 

They broke the kiss to catch their breath, and Shipwreck found himself awash in the sea of her green eyes. He leaned forward, kissing her softly before moving lower to worship her breasts. Courtney arched her back, begging him to make deeper contact. She moaned wantonly as she dug her nails into his back, making Shipwreck’s cock pulse with need. 

Their embrace was equal parts violence and passion, both feeling the need to make up for lost time, working off the adrenaline and nervous energy they’d built up breaking through the blockade to get to open sea. Shipwreck eased Courtney down onto the bench so that they were lying under the open ports of the machine gun station. When he finally pushed himself inside her, she didn’t yell so much as grunt the words, “Yes, yes!” 

Shipwreck moved against her in a fevered rhythm, the pressure building up inside him, until Courtney called out, “Hold on . . .”

“What?” he asked, breathless.

Courtney waited for Shipwreck to pull out before she grabbed his wrist to get him off balance and flipped him onto his back. He bumped his head against the hard, cold metal, but he was so full of endorphins and sexual heat that he barely even noticed. 

Courtney straddled his waist and threw her hair back like a model in a shampoo commercial. She was hunting like a giant cat, like a panther, and she had just caught her prey. She slid herself down onto his cock, sheathing him like a sword. The cabin had a low ceiling, but the opening for the gun port gave her just enough room to ride him cowgirl. Her balance was perfect as she moved above him, her eyes closed, her breasts thrust forward. Shipwreck knew that the Sunday school teacher wasn’t going to watch her language anymore.

“God, you’re so big, you fucking filthy sailor!” she screamed.

Courtney’s foul mouth always got Shipwreck hot. He pushed his hips, grunting, panting, meeting her faster and faster, higher and higher, each time. 

“Fuck me, Hector. Oh God, yes! Fuck me! Fill me up with that cock of yours.” 

Shipwreck came hard inside her, and Courtney ground down onto him, letting out a fierce, warrior scream. In an instant, she slipped off of him and lay down at his side, her back against the wall. 

There was silence for a while. Then Courtney said, “I thought I lost you.”

“I thought I lost you.” Shipwreck put his arms around her, drawing her close.

“Not today,” she said, laughing.

“Not ever.”

They gazed up at the night sky together, listening to the waves lap lazily against the hull. The bench they laid on was narrow, and Courtney kissed Shipwreck deeply. “You smell like burned rubber and cordite,” she said.

Shipwreck chuckled. “Better than that Calvin Klein shit you used to do ads for?”

“Much. And watch the language,” she said.

“You’re kidding, right? After that performance? Hell, we got into it so fast, we didn’t even get to lay down on the blanket you put down. And my God, that mouth—”

Courtney playfully smacked his chest and said, “Shut up, Hector.”

They held on to each other on that small boat in the Pacific Ocean, the light rocking of the waves and the weather making them feel euphoric and warm in the afterglow of their lovemaking. Soon, the Navy convoy would arrive to pick them up. They knew they’d have to get back into uniform, get debriefed, return to duty. But right now, that world was far away. The only world they wanted was on board the hovercraft with each other, sailor and soldier, _contra mundum_.


	16. Epilogue: Aboard the USNS Navajo, two days after being picked up from the Pacific Ocean

####  **Epilogue**

####  **_Aboard the _USNS Navajo**

####  ** _Two days after being picked up from the Pacific Ocean_ **

After securing the hovercraft onboard the naval tug a few days earlier, Krieger and Hector assisted Cutter in assessing its damage. They had made an inventory and given it to the crew of pointy-heads assigned from OTC to assess what went wrong in the first place with the Night Force stealth package. Krieger explained the wiring problem to them, and they told her they would file that information for further consideration. She knew they wouldn’t, but she didn’t care. 

The convoy that the _Navajo _was part of was heading back to San Diego. Shipwreck was excited about going home, even if it would only be for a brief period. Krieger just wanted to get back on dry land. Before the rendezvous, Krieger had gotten back into her Sierra Muerte army fatigues. The fatigues that Shipwreck had stripped off before pulling his stunt were nowhere to be found. She figured it was just a stunt to keep himself naked anyway, something she’d taken full advantage of. The medic on board the _Navajo_ mentioned that beyond some cuts and bruises, they were both very dehydrated from some kind of physical exertion. Krieger thought that her escapade on the hovercraft with Hector had gone unnoticed, but the medic made a friendly recommendation to refrain from the same kind of “physical exertion” on board the tug because of the lack of privacy.

Hector had been lucky that the ship’s stores had a replacement uniform in his size. Krieger had no such luck. Her jungle fatigues were trashed, and she ended up wearing an olive drab flight suit with a Grumman F-14 Tomcat patch. From tank jockey to sailor to fighter pilot, she’d thought as she’d looked in the mirror the first time she’d suited up. Be all that you can be, indeed.

Krieger and Hector had been assigned to separate cabins on board the tug. After helping Cutter and talking to the OTC black box team, Krieger and Hector had been pretty much left to their own devices. Then a chopper arrived. Krieger and Hector were told to report for debriefing soon after.

* * *

There was a small cabin on the tug where the final debriefing took place. It was a room with desks similar to the briefing room at Army Headquarters in Sierra Gordo. They met Beach Head there. He was still in his fatigues, still wearing his green ski mask as a skullcap. He nodded at them as they entered.

Hector took a seat on top of one of the desks while Krieger tried to cram herself into the seat. She finally gave up and sat on the desk like Hector. “They’re still too small,” she said. “Face it, the military just doesn’t know how to make desks that fit.”

“Good job, you two,” Beach Head said. “I’m glad you made it out alive.”

“Was there any doubt we would?” Hector asked.

“Truthfully, I was more worried you’d kill each other, the way you two were carrying on.”

“You know us Joes,” Krieger said. “One, big happy family.”

“Is that why I always feel like the put-upon father?” Beach Head quipped. “Anyway, both sides are denying any wrongdoing. Sierra Gordo doesn’t know how any American hardware ended up in their territory, and Sierra Muerte won’t acknowledge they stole anything. The leaders of both nations met this morning and only agreed to one thing, that all foreign advisers have to go. Outback, Tunnel Rat, and I are headed back to The Pit.”

“Gee, what a surprise,” Krieger said, “Politicians denying wrongdoing. Nice to know me and Ship almost got killed over something that never happened.”

“That’s the job,” Beach Head said.

“Yo, Joe,” Krieger said with mock enthusiasm.

“Wait a minute,” Hector said. “If you three are going back to The Pit, does that mean we have to go too?”

“You’d think that, but no,” Beach Head said. “San Diego is nice this time of year, and I think you two deserve some R&R.”

“Thanks a lot!” Hector said.

“Yes, thank you,” Krieger said. They both looked at each other and smiled.

“Just do me a favor and stop being so stubborn, the both of you?”

Krieger raised an eyebrow. “Why, Sergeant Major, I have no idea what you’re talking about.” She saluted him, and Hector followed suit.

“Dismissed,” he said, smirking as he returned the salute. “By the way, I’d make a great best man at a wedding.”

“Sorry, Beach Head,” Hector said, “you’re Army. If I needed a best man, he’d have to be a sailor.”

“Would you settle for maid of honor?” Krieger asked.

“You guys have three days for your furlough after you dock. Considering that we’re about a day out from home, you guys technically have four days. You’re welcome,” Beach Head said as they left the room. “Make them count.”

As they walked down the corridor, Krieger entwined her fingers into Hector’s. “Three days,” she said. “What can we do in three days?”

“We have a lot of catching up to do.”

“Yeah, but I also need new clothes. I haven’t worn anything decent in days.”

“Let’s keep it that way.”

Krieger smirked at Hector’s remark. “So, we aren’t even pretending that we’re going to do anything besides have make-up sex during this three-day pass, are we?” Krieger asked.

“We pretend all the time. We’re covert ops. It’s what we do. Time to go off duty for a while.”

“Hector, sometimes you are the wisest man I know.”

“And knowing is half the b—”

“Don’t,” Krieger warned, holding up a hand to stop him. “And the next time you go overboard to deliver explosives to an enemy vessel, you’d better take me with you.”

Hector offered her a mock salute. “Aye, aye, Soldier.”

They walked out on the deck, onto the port side of the tug, facing west towards the sunset, horizon ablaze in pink and yellow, behind clouds of purple and navy. They watched the other ships in the flotilla, headed north for home. Krieger slipped her hand into Hector’s and leaned in for a kiss. “Hector X. Delgato, you sure know how to show a girl a good time. Look at this view! Military hardware, diesel engines, large caliber armaments—”

“Yeah, I know.” Hector took Krieger’s hand and kissed it. “All that’s missing are some explosions and death-defying escapes.”

Krieger smiled at Hector and said, “I’m looking forward to more of those with you.”

She leaned her head on Hector’s shoulder as together they sang, “Yo, ho, yo, ho, a pirate’s life for me.” 


End file.
